A day fills the pages for night dreams. Songs settle into wide branches while lovers speak in whisper language. Night is blind to evil. The land is filled with stiff gray images. A jagged twisting wind circles over smooth faces. Silence holds the greatest of weight under an early sliver of moon. … More FOREVER GONE
Pillows are the footnotes of thoughts, the bubbling of half truths and scattered sticks of wisdom, expressed without order in the night of a room. Pillows are the guardians of words drooled from the chasm of mouths and ejected from cerebral complexities. The warden of speech releases into night swimming dreams, the backlog of anxiety … More PILLOW TALK
I can hear the water clock. The liquid metronome of a dripping faucet. A distinct sound muffled into silence during the day of sounds. On the ceiling, the passing reflections of headlights from passing cars below crawls over the cracked plaster. A blinking neon pulses across the street, matching the faucet drips and then … More BETWEEN THE DRIPS
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
There are visions of highway men late at night. Cars slow, looking about. Weary travelers without planning. Sounds increase past midnight, raising caution and suspicion. Ragged freight trains punch pull through town. Dogs sleep off day with restless legs and twitching ears, chasing spirit cats in dreams. A church bell runs out three. Thieves fail … More LATE, VERY LATE
There is a sleep murmur, a language of slumber, half words absent of full thoughts, verbal creations satisfying the ears while agreeing with suggestions; nodding of the head and smiling before slipping back to sleep. Dreams offer partial direction, indicating the chance to be or the place be all appears right, and above question. Night … More THE OTHER SIDE
Somewhere between the sleep of death and breath of life I linger within when my eyes like yours close for day and open for night in blackness deep where sounds are crushed into voices and faces twist into paintings of who I know or who I’ve seen when … More DRINKING SLEEP
Half sleep gathered me into boughs of night where dreamscapes of waterfalls and colored carnival lights shined onto a blue wall. Careless curtains beckon me to open the window where stars resemble musical notes, blinking out songs. My room capsizes as water rushes in, circling my ankles … More CROSSING BOARDERS
I know the face of 3am. It pulls tight at the bones of my rest, unwrapping the scaffolding of my cellophane sleep, breaking into my room; my eyes open into a dark sea of nothing. 3am is a black star absent of an orbit, a horizon fused into the soup … More 3 AM
Roger Singer 