steady and faulty we win the race
I have known few men who won with grace
I see glimpses of myself in every failure
and reflections of regret in every triumph.
I so wish the human experience was less nuanced than it is
if things happened just so
and people remained as they are
waiting for you to flip the page.
what oyster knives lay flat against cold tiles of realization
and why does the world not mourn half artists who favored the race over grace.