The Lost Art of Grace

The space to be human


they spin and spin

their threads of rule,

stitching us into

straight jackets,

and if we move—

even slightly—

against superior judgment,

the fury of the world falls—

lightning and thunder,

dogs barking

at trespassers,


screaming for heads

on silver platters;

they are human too

but cannot believe it,

never having learned the word



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