Under the dream of summer I become a lazy traveler, like chrysanthemums breaking and falling, spreading my thoughts like sunlight on my shirt.. Songs dance my feet into islands, stepping over warm sand and then rolling in its gold. A lemon sun held the day, judging stars to withhold and the moon to … More LEMON WARM
KEROUAC’S ROOM A brown box radio plays scratchy songs into a room where outside neon lights breathe a fuzzy hum of blue and red through weathered curtains as the river far below rumbles deep past the town covered in soot as he groans out a snappy beat on a pawn shop … More KEROUAC’S ROOM
The notes had feet running me down with slaps to my face speaking hard of the pain forged in rooms with smoke and ice as the beat jumped me like thieves intent on harm bruising with jive a blues fat with thick and jazz painted black. running songs fast to catch them all shaking … More BRUISING WITH JIVE
When in the life of mid-stream choices and friends are few between when songs become an empty promise stuffed with pillow dreams and every street becomes an alley where shadows whisper lies you stop the voices remembering words from someone not so long ago who claimed hope and love a second chance beyond the loss … More HOPE
Day sheds its skin. The low bass of time moves daylight to its end. Streets open their hands to my arms and feet. Low light. Last light puddles. Dusk coughs a last breath. Night paints faces with shadows. Windows shut. Whispers find corners where promises are broken. Hats tip and collars rise. A cool breeze … More NIGHT WALK
Words become a watershed, the express of desire, a fountain draining to the ground, forming streams of release. The engine of day caresses the eyes as they mirror the images of streets and voices crowding into fast lines. Hats hold close the thoughts, while hands point or find pockets for rest. … More STREET NOISE
The hand of jazz leads me like a river pushing water slowly to the sea. Sounds with soothing hands tug hard like strong twisted rope pulling me wide awake. Each and every time the music washes over me with thirsty licks I fall deep under the spell. … More UNDER THE SPELL
He pulled her in with music, fishing for her eyes to focus on lines he extended. She fingered pearls about her neck, turning them over like wet thoughts of the man on stage. Black ties and buttons hold shirts in place. Cuff links with initials fawn for attention. Hat pins point into the mystery of … More PASSION
Out of Tangiers the fragrance followed. A stack of letters bound with a blue ribbon, wait for the seeds of their thoughts to be watered when their words are read. Suits with ties and jackets unzipped. The conversation moved onto paper with broken pencils until 2am; sleep can wait. Cold water and a third floor … More PARIS HOTEL
Three bells sound within a mist. Sheng Street fills with butterfly light aromas; pillows shine of satin while incense speaks to spirits. A sea of black plaits sway in tides of black shirts. Black unto black, black blends into night. Frozen dragons snarl from smoky dens where voices of ancestors gather in corners. Painted faces … More SHENG STREET
Roger Singer 