darkness covers the linen of skin, folding over with day lost, the sky closes out the feel of sun warm breezes surrender to shadows replacing colors with a flat gray like layers of curtains, the first call of night leaning into stillness
fair winds circled past open windows teasing checked and striped curtains snapping their ends against red stained brick walls signaling like a ship messages to the sky
Removing the coat of protection the curtain once important breaking away from the person within where the dust of youth is a repeating song while pushing out the voices of ghosts and shadows
Be the road long and unending with steps repeating like a drum releasing a beat while stepping through a curtain of promises to the other side where removing and separating is no longer blurred like underwater images we try to forget surfacing a little less broken
An unseasonable difference the bouquet of destiny crowded within the magic of sleep the region between unknown footsteps unsure voices while the fullness of gravity prevents the ability for touch this unexplained element of drama remains bazaar where particles of words raise the curtain on another morning
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
A curtain. Formed white. Soft folded ribbons. Linen eyes lust under the handle of breezes, searching the alley below; considering heavens of gods and men walking. Strong sunlight. Warming rays. A morning of fullness surrounds summers fragrance; tar paper roofs, garbage, stagnant water. The breath of the city. Voices slip from windows. Coughing; … More FROM A WINDOW
Coffee brewed with morning aroma in the apartment overlooking the rail yard. Between curtains, curious fingers open a space for wandering eyes. Men with hats and stained overalls oil the smoking metal beats. A tower switchman yells from a window to ears thinking of lunch. A dog runs over the twisting tracks, its tail tucked … More RAIL YARD
Roger Singer 