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He asks you to ask questions about yourself,
All the while imagining a scalpel-sharp blade
Severing your horizontal fissure,
Soft pink cubes soon soaked in vinegar
For ten minutes or more,
Before washed, salted and spiced,
Cooked and finally fried,
A thin sliver of smile across his face.
"You have to convince yourself the lion is not in the room. When it is, I assure you, you will know."
