He was a sax man, raising the heat on the here and down, firing up stoves, cooking with jazz, pushing it with a lifting of hands, creating great sounds from reaching as the wall clock crosses over to tomorrow jumping his ride colliding with the sun, splitting the shade to shadows and jive until night … More WHERE DREAMS MELT
Up from the rafters of the underfloor, the old man forces the his sax to whisper out the birth of favored notes. His fingers strain and shoulders ache but he plays from his mind the songs he knows, remembering the clubs and dancers, the circling smoke and passionate eyes absorbing the music. In his … More THE UNDERFLOOR
The walls move in on him, pressing out the vintage of his flavor, forcing a banquet of jazz into drunken lazy air where lipstick releases secrets and gin holds no lies as the music burns through the smoke of last night while morning slaps the creases of a sun between chairs and over faded … More SLOW MOVING
The piano man got no shake for hurrying those fingers working notes jump walls like thieves stretching long to escape. Hungry air yields like trees caught in storms tilting hard roulette sound got no stop when spinning into jazz up and out.
Songs overflow from doors opening to the sidewalk where.neon lights baptize the weak, stirring the curiosity of a night strung tight while others pray in alleys whispering their sins under a celestial curtain as stars cross behind the black of space where not a molecule is out of place as cool air covers the tapestry … More FINDING NIGHT
The notes had feet running me down with slaps to my face speaking hard of the pain forged in rooms with smoke and ice as the beat jumped me like thieves intent on harm bruising with jive a blues fat with thick and jazz painted black. running songs fast with lust and catch them all … More BRUISING WITH JIVE
Ain’t it grand? muddy waters, delta deep, catfish frying, jambalaya boiling, sugar cane bending from warm thick passing, southerly breezes. Ain’t no denying music in the soul, gotta get out past mamma Jem into icy pans where beers waiting and whiskey calls with cool drops to sooth my hots. Girls deep dancing, and … More AIN’T IT GRAND
He came from no place good; unpaved roads lick his dusty feet. Magnolias fold at his passing, mourning his loss and without. There are no warnings within him. No trappings snare his feet. His words are swollen streams, turning violent winds into jazz, soaking faces with song. He’s been … More BREATHING GRAY
Under the skin, a motor of sound. Molasses fingertips play dark thick jazz. Wet soaked dirt roads kick start the aroma of his thoughts. Smooth perfumed skin smiles into his lust. His mile of strong words runs like a river engine; a power few own. A wind moves on a sweet green growing field. His … More DEEP POCKETS
The crowd, a mass of willing flesh, absorb the fire of his sound. Their greed is unsatisfied, unquenched, burning with the blood of dance; it warms cool air. The man with great voice tastes his words, releasing thoughts from corners and shadows, spreading the jazz, bandaging the hurt in the … More FALLEN STARS
Roger Singer 