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
I have a pocket of tied threads, gathered colors from shirts, parts of old coats, hats, the cuffs of pant legs scrapping roads, the front of hats like cross hairs pointing my head to someplace and from gloves that don’t match, pieces of reminders to count and remember the place they were freed, now protected
faced into seasons swept to the edges where clouds form at tree tops, lazily, like an afternoon nap as cotton curtains stir to the gift of breezes and bright shades of white reflect off the ocean, bowing to blue skies
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 academia of cafe people. The quips are everything, falling neatly into line without stress. They circle the edge of the serious before journeying to art and the Bauhaus of their apartment. There’s a laugh about abstract dreams and what they could possibly mean and how their favorite pillow captures tears. Black and white photos … More THE OUTSIDE OF IN
The language of fresh cottons snaps into twisting curves testing the soul of sturdy fabrics streaming out with flag blown hysteria. A small wooden pin secures without injury preventing the chaos from escaping into disfigurement on the ground. Cotton favor merges under blue skies and easterly winds striking a beat as the earth … More MOVING
Roger Singer 