the eyes shut from exhaustion, releasing spirits from the darkness to war within, flashing concussive images, angled blinding lights and drums beating in dramatic fashion, anguished rhythms of air from my lungs, far from the innocent shoreline of sleep I once knew
sleep, the back half of what was, leftovers from today, ghosts of the past stepping through an open door without resistance as the sand underneath changes to water, drowning your breath or pushing you from a rooftop sparing your impact, your death, until repeated another night
surrounded by a skeleton of trees a shudder of wind reveals gravestones of buried souls scattered ashes and dust of heroes and villains tossed together into a gathering of memories where wings and whispers sleep along side of unpacked dreams
the roar of blood keeps the skin from sleeping while spirits speak the language of awake and night dreams are absorbed into the flash of neon messages directly from the mouths of angels speaking of the everlasting though even they fail to fully understand while half notes and unanswered prayers drip like a … More AWAKE
flames of messages hand prints speaking from the wall about a life walk down narrow alleys past back doors loves left behind storms and sun sleepless nights trials and errors while searching for a destiny above the scatter leaning toward the shape of how it is to be greater than the … More THREE LEAF CLOVER
I’m on my own line there’s no sideways just the only road I know a nameless opening to slip through the green grass on the other side is well past and without flavor to remember and faces forgotten night rest now comes easy
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
The area between dreams is the thirst of sleepers. They drink in the invisible waiting for troubled angels to produce from silvery darkness a face in the mirror a nameless misfortune or the salt of visions with piercing shadows, and familiar voices; the wrinkles of life not available during the day.
It was a dull circle of sleep. A separation where day folds into slumbered haze. Mumbled half words tumble out. An occasional roar breaks the silence. It’s a time between lucid and insanity. Emptiness and heroism. A storm of thoughts strike the base of heaven; the soul envies the catacombs of control. Hours appear … More HALF WAY
One in the morning. I stretch, turning off the light. My book falls to the floor. Looking up, a cerulean mist hangs as my eyes adjust. A curtain of black soon covers the room. A diesel truck passes by below. A window shuts in anger. The night stand clock hums out of tune; an electric … More EARLY
Roger Singer 