resurrecting self, folktales, adventures, surviving a space invaded with good works and deeds overlooked, the misdirection of obvious road signs while inspecting the caged animal within as chains loosen, constant pressure, the escape is inevitable, beyond the guardian, to be accepted or misunderstood
The streets are me broken chains of thought in the company of whistles and horns a subway below sidewalks of people fishing for space between crosswalks while a guitar and sax play songs for quarters and dimes all beneath a sun and clouds forming shade and shadows as the engine is motion
It was a stampede of wheels into a darkness thick as sand. The temperature sprayed heat long past the drop of sun. Engines like the coyote’s scream bring on chills. The cars race to a spot just beyond the edge of nothing. Wild songs dance with air. Bottle tops rain onto blacktop where rubber burns … More UNCHAINED
Roger Singer 