a darkened path, tight like a line of granite fists rebels against the changing season, though finally surrendering like the last leaf, separating its bond due to issuing winds, as overwhelming changes sculpt the next solstice to rediscover itself
the ebb and flow, searching for an eventide, a homeostasis of flesh and cloth weaving unspoken, threads without contact yet touching without knowing, the salmon instinct of activity, the struggle in mass for the end result, each arriving separately
two steps up and to the right a glass door with a smooth metal handle like a sun dried cotton shirt swings open to a place where strangers and regular’s sit on stools or in booths leaning forward sharing hushed tones while some wait and others accept disappointment as the city outside rushes by
the eyes shut from exhaustion, releasing spirits from the darkness to war within, flashing concussive images, angled blinding lights and drums beating in dramatic fashion, anguished rhythms of air from my lungs, far from the innocent shoreline of sleep I once knew
between irregular smooth surfaces there’s a gray area like the space between butterfly wings, valuable and gifted, delicately curved, bending with motion, rejecting gravity while breaking the bonds of what holds us back
when home comes for you, it washes you into an unobstructed path away from the ledge, breaking the distance between lands and time separated, capturing your steps, recovering the parts of separation, a leaning once stronger than the soul, now whispers, it will find a place for you
a moon of madness disturbed the sky, half or crescent? the conversation volleyed between casual observers deciding . re-deciding the celestial message of night lights as they searched an overwhelming sky hoping someone could solve the question, provide an answer to the meaning of moon and life and why we must all eventually die
rivers of thoughts are words reacting in a struggling orbit, encouraging the moment to go into the wind, not fight it while digging deep but not too deep, within the chest of your earth as it expands then relaxes, creating pause, while holding back like the patience of an insect, jumping or flying only … More SYMPHONY
Roger Singer 