The Bus Woke Me Up

The AC machine reminds me that you need imagination to picture another emiter of noise

A bus would wake us up in the middle of the night

No brakes and poor lights and a bump made the windows of my house break in the alley

Or at least make my bed shake

My dreams would get interrupted

From nightmares of a ship sailing without me and the earth sinking

Or an infinite stairwell I had to climb

These were the bad dreams.

The good dreams would shake into a lost memory in my brain

Like an earthquake crumbling a building on top of everything.

Now there are no fast speed buses running down the streets

Just an old AC machine that breathes and reminds me of some noises when I really make an effort to imagine them.

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