Bus stops and ballads

Bus stops and ballads and empty lyrics slip in between the chill.
Fingers in gloves too thin and wiggling my toes inside my socks inside my runners waiting for the #3 to say these words on tiny keypads.


A month and a week or maybe more between the loss of words and the dreams that fall from white gated heavens in the spaces between forever and three jobs and my two smiling angels waiting for Dada to come home.

Come with me in the invisible stolen moments between stops and thoughts and wondering which groceries to buy until Friday. Hallelujah echoes the ghostly voice of Jeff Buckley beneath the wheels and the diesel humming and the distant voices of young people just like me once upon a time.

The voice slips and fades beneath the running water and vanishes too soon too young too distant.  “It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah…hallelujah…”

This entry was published on November 26, 2011 at 11:15 pm. It’s filed under Life and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: