John Farrell Buffalo - Library Voices

The bible props open a window

On the second floor of a 2 star hotel

3 fingers of single malt in a coffee cup

Praying morning never comes

But a thrush is singing like a starlet

Shadows are stretching like a harlot

And we’re running out of cigarettes

John Farrell Buffalo

The Golden Age of radio

We still believed in rock n roll

There’s an empty seat on a greyhound,

Leaving the big smoke headed southbound.

I’m listening to Forever Changes with your ghost,

I won’t burn my miracles.

Curled up cowering like a comma,

The pause before a broken promise

(I won’t be daring from a distance) I’ll find myself a trade wind.

Maybe Heaven doesn’t exist

Maybe it never has

Or maybe just for doubting it I’ll be damned