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Familiar Longing. 

Shred
of all preconceptions,
naked
to all hopes and fears: 

all he ever wanted
was the fucking truth.

No show
in tradition,
shunned
by popularity,
in appeal
to authority: 

only methodology
proved to be of use.

So he walked
the walk, tread the path,
machete swinging. 

From behind the curtain,
a seeming monster peered:
frightening, galvanizing. 

So familiar:
this longing…

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