With a fox tail,
I brush my many tiny selves into a pile.
through the broken drinking glass.
It seems that at 29,
I've still not mastered the art of holding.
Of forming a fist around what I intend to keep .
Once the floor is clean of me,
After I've thrown all of me away.
I'll pick up a plastic cup from the cupboard this time.
I'll keep trying to end the thirst.