Under the skin, a motor of sound. Molasses fingertips play dark thick jazz. Wet soaked dirt roads kick start the aroma of his thoughts. Smooth perfumed skin smiles into his lust. His mile of strong words runs like a river engine; a power few own. A wind moves on a sweet green growing field. His … More DEEP POCKETS
The spin of his jazz rolls in grand circles twisting, tumbling over angrily into a voice of growls loosed into solid dog eared words flea bitten and worn thin like harvest fields he shouts up with blazes of fire unquenched spreading as if kicked from hell setting up swirling sparks flaming the starving Souls inhaling … More A NEW LANGUAGE
Gusts of air. Turbulent waves, hot and steam filled, rush like running thieves up the subway stairs, circling her hair, teasing the ends of morning care. Her gum snaps like frenzied whips, keeping time with stories she shares. Turnstiles twist like fallen windmills releasing the aroma of rust and useless oils; a fine baptism of … More ANXIOUS EYES
Street lights sign in as dusk resigns to darkness. Scattered shadows of leaves dance on midnight sidewalks. Homes sleep in silence. Dark breezes lift curtain edges, creating life from worn cloth. Porch lights dot the galaxy of streets. Picket fences keep strangers away but ghosts pass through freely. A train whistle, distant yet sharp, bleeds … More MIDNIGHT
She’s got the pain of me in her walking hard on shadows of who we were. Her voice is my jazz favoring thoughts she planted with the water of her touch. We have captured the deep caves of each other seeing in the dark what others with eyes will never grasp.
Blow horn man blow dark out of night with wicked blasts scaring the silence into running. Blow hard knocking down the bones of stand up music into rattling corner dice. Blow long that solid note piercing sharp like a knife cutting deep opening wide the jazz.
A high lunar slice silver painted a sterile face unlikely warm soundless suspended solidly overhead where hinges in heaven slip it over nights curved sky speeding to a place over there where people point at shards of light reflecting on water hoods of cars windows the ancient stone the Mona Lisa moon half smiling. … More MONA LISA MOON
One step, two, the march of funeral feet slaps leather to pavement and jazz for the dead. ….blow mighty the horn of Gabriel. Tambourines snap under white parasols and spotless suits; angels watch in jealous pain. …the band lifts spirits beyond the grave. Black hands and red fingernails hold fever tight handkerchiefs, waving parade air … More FUNERAL MARCH
My walking soul, borne on the blood leather of my shoes, scratches its skin on the red uneven bricks below my curious walking. The aroma of gardenias melts from trees like icing on warm days running thick and sweetly; crooked fingered branches above reach stiff like the dead. A snappy stringed guitar … More JACKSON SQUARE
She was a chance for good air the beginning of song released in the wings of her words bold with color strong with history on the stage where she worshipped the words opening black nights with subtle breezes like her travel to towns blurred with names and faces melting into … More SUBTLE BREEZES
Roger Singer 