A jukebox holds the room hostage neon’s struggle scratchy songs labor in love patrons huddle in whispers a black checkered floor receives night traffic crumpled napkins a phone number written in red. cracked seat cushions welcome the tired and depressed a lone waitress slow motion hats tipped, heavy mascara leather jackets tattoos … More THE GATHERING
A passive silver moon dripped its light through lace curtains into my room the faucet in the bathroom dripped with precise regularity both dripping worlds invoking their presence on me there is no wisdom gained being in the middle listening and watching to the drip, drip from my shelter of awake between … More DRIP, DRIP
The last blessing the settling of forms the shadows over a life put in order truth hidden in stones deposited slowly into the heart rivers absent of motion become power lost thin paths test the feet of the brave at the end everyone witnesses the valley of their birth.
A gift of words is the magic the key opening clouds healing holds the temperature of the room diamonds rise as leaves fall a newness provides the power like rivers broken stars mend what was lost resurfaces the moon glazes onto meadows with smoothness
I felt the water clock hold sentence over me. Dribbling out good, bad, indifference and sincerity. Its pendulum was silent, though refreshing me with reminders like a mirror reflecting the truth. Every experience has weight; the winning, losing, success and luck. We balance them until it tips. The results are unspoken for. … More END AROUND
A low rumbling a quiet menace brooding on the horizon a language of sounds ominous clouds above the reach of man evil markings retire day’s shadows relinquishing serene space to a greater force heavy weather reflects in eyes gazing upward rain presses onto the souls of mortals.
It was beautiful because, shaded solitude under a sycamore blanketing a dirt road durable carpets of moss and grass exhibited proof of ancient inheritance it’s a bewildering place for those just passing through and an oasis for those walking slowly
wet footsteps on the floor cotton clouds the magic of music handcuffs the soul providing anywhere travel with eyes closed the heart steers without disappointment onto a wide porch waiting for sunset lightening bugs send signals to the fortunate the best place to be is the one they dream of
The line thrown onto still waters half a chance to win every place has a name a marking to be found water circles the ankles a baptismal washing into beauty the opening of the eyes we eventually discover the end of the road back where we started the first breath relived … More ASHES AND AIR
Roger Singer 