the frailty of normality
is the thickness of a strand of hair
this tenuous thread we walk upon
to cross a chasm over a gaping maw
where acid geysers spit and spew
refute the former acceptation of
the acceptable; no more the world
we thought we knew.
civility only works when calibrated to
a universal that everyone claims.
wherein lies the civil
when babies are in chains?
when young black men are slain?
when women's truth disdained?
rise up and lend your voice, for certain,
to make your mark but mark this more,
go make your mark behind the curtain
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