Between messing up and notAnd falling down, and liftingmyself up each dayI efface a portion of the toniccalled grit, that we gulped as kids.Cliffs on a coast eroded by the seashreds of sandpaperthat's me.I don't mind being carried awayby waves or wind,eaten away by their gentleness.It's always less fearfulthan the dregs of courage, they claimlie …
PoemsIStoriesIEssays
A Hundred Quills 