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."

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