All the Difference
if a fork of doubt
cut upward, wall by wall,
through the backbone of my beliefs,
a fork that reached the skull,
a fork whose tips i could study in the mirror,
and try to pull higher, obvious as horns,
above my face,
if i would suffer for it,
ripped apart
again and again and again
and again and again
by the wretched werewolf of freedom,
as it dismembered
the shepard and sheep of obeisant lies,
i might not hesitate.
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