We are grains of sand. Marked within the glass. A gathering of what’s behind, out of reach, as one more grain tumbles, brushing against broken thoughts and lies we turned into truth. There are doors we locked and clouds we pointed at; road signs desperate to advise. Another grain of names slips thorough, some forgotten … More UNCOMMON CORNERS
It’s a song for the night. The slow creep of a high tide as the last car heads for the next town. Wayside diners and broken hearts gather on empty at a desert gas station. Someone reads The Howl out loud; it’s the fear and the dreams we live up to. Steel mills steam alive … More CRESTED LIZARD
The train lunged in and out of order. Heads swayed like displaced seaweed mocking gravity. The stars and moon remained in place. Thick metal wheels turn with conviction. There is no shame for those asleep, leaning onto windows, newspapers for pillows. The miles create a low hum. The engine possesses a pure heart. White smoke … More NIGHT CRAWLERS
He thought greatly of himself. His phrases and finger pointing attempted to fill the nothingness beneath his shirt. He was respective of others as long as they listened to him. His neckties were bright and his eyes fired from a burn on his tongue. Business was his business but no one knew what business. The … More A BELL RUNG
Bring the grave to the steps and the memories will follow; sun stained wallpaper and leaded windows fade, but not your name. There’s something in my pocket, a note from you and a penciled smile from a name lifted from earth. I forgot the sound of your voice but remember your joy on a … More ONE MORE TIME
There was little understanding between them and him. What was discussed fell fallow. Them pressed the point to him. He knew the choice of them and their kind, “join them or flounder alone.” This was not for him. He would warm under a blanket of without, and remain in division. Them held strong the line, … More HOLDING THE LINE
The song. Unaffected. Opens like spring. Formed from vines grasping at the answer to words. Rhythms without explanations. A sense of beauty, full of individual reason. A flag of intention. A banner to gather voices rising for the occasion. Full verses. Empty hearts. A recipe of melancholy. Winds ebb in favor of voices. Hands raised. … More STAGE LEFT
The shoreline is a paper waiting for a story. Frequent coal blue skies compete with the gray of midday. Oil cloth jackets provide temporary warmth. Multiple nearby voices scale up the dunes, but the power of the waves refuse them any higher. Birds scatter and then rejoin, swiftly passing overhead. The winds are held together … More HIGH DUNES
His guitar had a better voice and face. He played out the words like a sweet dessert. Pain and loss was his shirt and untied shoes, pasted to a long and light frame. He washes his beard in the rain. Clouds are his blankets and the ground his pillow where dreams fade away. There’s a … More WITHOUT HOME
The art of imperfection. A change of attitude and the limits not to exceed where temperature of mood fills the moment of decision; its high climate of change, though unnumbered but important. A formed shape begins with order. A voice, a glance, an answer without words. The simple of life is the meal … More FINDING SHAPE
Roger Singer 