There is a thirst in my fire. A cloud heavy with wet, ready to release a river. In my head a muscle pushes rocks, forcing rivers to overflow, changing the course of brown gravel into the sounds of me. I am a prisoner of music. The maker of jazz and the roll of … More THAT JAZZ THING
Under the dream of summer I become a lazy traveler, like chrysanthemums breaking and falling, spreading my thoughts like sunlight on my shirt.. Songs dance my feet into islands, stepping over warm sand and then rolling in its gold. A lemon sun held the day, judging stars to withhold and the moon to … More LEMON WARM
KEROUAC’S ROOM A brown box radio plays scratchy songs into a room where outside neon lights breathe a fuzzy hum of blue and red through weathered curtains as the river far below rumbles deep past the town covered in soot as he groans out a snappy beat on a pawn shop … More KEROUAC’S ROOM
Out of Tangiers the fragrance followed. A stack of letters bound with a blue ribbon, wait for the seeds of their thoughts to be watered when their words are read. Suits with ties and jackets unzipped. The conversation moved onto paper with broken pencils until 2am; sleep can wait. Cold water and a third floor … More PARIS HOTEL
The pop of jazz rushed a line from his horn long with lifting a breath desired as the world slips from his eyes opening dreams with furious release like night runners searching for safety where every street is an alley of a song yet formed as angels slip and run and crowds lean into … More OPENING DREAMS
Roger Singer 