I am the bull charging toward me. Grace is the red cape and the sidestep. I am the boulder in the middle of my road. Grace is ways around. I am the iron door locked. Grace is removable hinges. I am the long, bad winter. Grace is April. I am accident. Grace is pattern. I am pattern. Grace is serendipity. I am full. Grace, empty. I am empty. Grace?
hans ostrom 2017
hans ostrom 2017
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