Watch for me. I’ll be running with broken legs thinking about the sleeping pills on my fridge and liquor in my sink.

When I said I had time for this I didn’t know we were racing toward a dream.

So I’ll stand at the kitchen window and wait for this greedy crow to take his eyes off me.

I’m not even whole enough to own up to you,
and everything I’d ever need is even closer than he may think.

It doesn’t make me feel any better either that I’m a coward with these things.

But perhaps I’ll make some time.

I haven’t talked to you in a while now, it even feels like we’ve been so deep.

But we really haven’t, and now I can’t stop staring so intently into the drain of my kitchen sink.

Wondering where everything went and why that black crow would remain perched within my periphery.

And while I’m tossed back to the death grip of reality I cannot clamour from my incidental dream.

Perhaps there’s a sliver under my skin, maybe in my brain.

I keep thinking its you,

This is my ministry.