He breathed out the blues with the release of a raspy washboard, capturing the days full of sweat under a full sun or nights hanging moss or in backrooms where spilled whiskey drenches sawdust floors. He had a birth of songs flash spitting from hot greasy pans of his kingdom high thoughts, peppered with … More BLUES MAN
He would see with his hands, map readers of sorts. His fingers were pencils discovering the curves of a wall or the shape of a face; the continuance of good or evil. His feet sensed the earth between dirt and roads, solid or weak, as he chose the way from the dark caverns of … More BLIND
I got out the big car, the flashy one where your absorbed into the soul of your seat. We turn on the black roads with no names past road signs peppered with bullet holes and other signs pointing each way to towns and places somewhere to go. The moon plasters a gray canvas like … More THE BIG CAR
Sequoia cactus stand like soldiers at attention, raising daggers to heaven as we stream by, counting the stiff bristled coat hangers. We lean back and let the dry desert uncomb our hair. The radio pushes out uptown songs. Broken neon lights at abandoned bars languish under a blanket of dust, covering everything, including the heat. … More UNCOMBED HAIR
The air had an aroma of mischief, unshaven faces, sweaty collars, dancers and players all fashioned under a darkness, rising in song, raising with voices the chance of a gathering on red dirt roads where magnolias steal the senses and whispers rule the night while fingers become the language under stars without names and in … More MISCHIEF
I stand with respect on a blue broken carpet of muscle shells; azure seethes a jealous face. Gold flecks of crystal sand paint Pharaohs sandals onto my feet. Hungry waves slide over glacial pebbles; time laughs at man. Hands of clouds slip silently under a blue stadium sky. The ocean holds pride over horizons … More GIBRALTAR
Subways rattle overhead; long corners scream the voice of metal. Below, a street fills with faces. Anxious gazes, newspaper readers, nervous feet, fingers tap, hats tilt; waiting for bus #58. Warm city breezes swirl, painting faces gray and humid. Sweat stains armpits. Foreheads glaze like thin frosting. Collars breath unbuttoned. Sleeves roll up tight. Tiredly … More BUS #58
Between dusk and light half truths and minced oaths lift from lips sentences of thought salted in hope the understanding breaking wisdom where abandoned chances release onto sidewalks unnoticed passed over as common babbling taken for granted a bruising for speech from the wandering wise without pillows standing, spreading neon flashes of mercurial thoughts. … More STREET WISE
The brownstone building rises high at the corner. Cornucopia edges run to the corners where fierce concrete gargoyles with mottled teeth repel invisible spirits. Open windows welcome city air. Curtains run ripples on the side. Half pulled shades flutter. Pigeons circle overhead, landing noisily on the ledge. The elderly gather in packs on … More BROWNSTONE
The veil of youth is a door, or many doors where summer flourished all year in warmth. Games were fields of testing strength and speed, fight and spit. We possessed joints of steel and muscles with stretch; no mountain was too great. Arms were machines and legs springboards. The soul laughed at death and scorned … More YOUTH
Roger Singer 