Between dusk and light half truths and minced oaths lift from lips sentences of thought salted in hope the understanding breaking wisdom where abandoned chances release onto sidewalks unnoticed passed over as common babbling taken for granted a bruising for speech from the wandering wise without pillows standing, spreading neon flashes of mercurial thoughts. … More STREET WISE
A vine of words, green and waxed full spring from his talking. He stares at the sky, never tired of dark blue, the unlimited wide space where he reaches a hand toward it. A subtle breeze from behind touches his hair, lifting an edge, disrupting order without his notice. Cloud shadows form … More STRENGTH
The “is” of him has crossed into the “was”. The image with a shadow is now cloaked in “was”. I knew his “is” very well, never with thought of his becoming a “was”. Shoes and shirts and a favorite hat lay in a box; the hope of a “was” not to visit; those were the … More FROM “IS” TO “WAS”
We are in the business of judging strangers with wry smiles and hats dipped low. We lean in to evaluate, though not close, watching their direction with curiosity and fear, while avoiding their gaze so as not to be invited into their unstable space. We imagine their aroma. Where they slept and what their looking … More STRANGERS
It’s a legend of moving, heels of travelers, train soot or bus grease. There’s a road for everyone; a language of sound without hurrying. Slapping screen doors, caffeine and gas, diesel smoke and fast down gears; dirty fingers with a chance to go. Clock watchers without soul have no song; it’s a fail … More GREASE & CAFFEINE
Nothing good happens after 2am. Freight trains rattle the roads, shaking plates and stirring dogs. Streetlights blink a hazy yellow. Everything appears closed. Neon signs sleep. Doors are locked against the wrong keys. A black cat stares at a garbage can shadow. City buses have yielded themselves to the station. Thieves and robbers speak in … More STEAK & EGGS
Up from the rafters of the underfloor, the old man forces the his sax to whisper out the birth of favored notes. His fingers strain and shoulders ache but he plays from his mind the songs he knows, remembering the clubs and dancers, the circling smoke and passionate eyes absorbing the music. In his … More THE UNDERFLOOR
Songs of dreams jump the river, heavy with nights and clouded rains. Scuffed shoes on the beach and shirt tails shake the wind. The Nickel Bar calls the faithful by aroma, even the sour and stale from the evening before. Johnny comes home, proud to be standing. The hope of many buried in suitcases … More THE NEXT CURVE
He had a tattoo on his forearm of a face, faded through the years, even he can’t remember who it is. A cat rubs against his leg. He sips casually on a root beer. His boots dull from travel. Hair black as a night cave, pushed back flat like a helmet shined with grease. … More LESTER
Dreams grow on billboards, some are painted on the sides of barns. Out of Chicago on 66, winds at my back, passing brick churches, racing freight trains to St. Louis, where a river heads south as I push past growing fields where families work for peanuts while harvesting corn as I move onto Oklahoma, … More ROUTE 66
Roger Singer 