the language of keys in the lock, an abrupt shutting signaling the adult force he opens a cabinet, the refrigerator mumbles a few words shuts the cellar door then moves with a slow steady gait, heavy and sure hands sliding over the walls by habit his shadow on the hallway … More HE WAS HOME
the house was a fire of voices a child on the front porch sang a song about water and boats floor boards language inner travel from room to room burnt evening skies brushed the house with setting shadows as night breathes out a deep sigh of quiet
his hair spoke the language of wind whipping over his ears falling onto a furrowed forehead an ocean of air rushes and gathers against gravity pushing its weight against the presence of his salt and light bone and blood
eyes with work a wall clock without mercy typewriter language paper thick with ink corner offices glass doors with names water tank and paper cups fluorescent lights no one notices the hum high heels hair spray jackets and ties felt hats everyone smokes see you tomorrow
before counted time there was death where dreams cease like a broken branch nevermore to leaf the moon and stars care not the sun passes over the clouds and winds prevail while the spirit crosses a river or into a light those remaining shed tears washing out their souls remembering the last … More TO THE END
There’s a silhouette a side shadow brave with image soulful and longstanding motion expressed with well spoken words hat tipped blocking the sun providing shade for eyes of reason at the edge of a clear stream he stands expecting great things from a cast into swift waters ripples over rocks … More WELCOME BACK
It’s a twisting of hands, a thirst to indulge the spirit of the getaway, the radical, unradical of wish and desire; air through a chrome grill chews hungrily the dark of night on tendrils of unlighted roads. The tires roll out a language of hate and speed; the normal is scrapped for expression. Roads … More LOST ROADS
There was a glass reflection of sky and overhanging branches as we passaged down river, slipping through calm water; an excursion through nature’s lyrics. Each wide corner revealed another portrait in perfect color; small gatherings of birds swept silently above. There was a balance. A quiet tempest of greatness. An undercurrent of power not seen. … More EACH CORNER
From the third story window, traffic below releases a voice. The aroma of warm asphalt, oil and exhaust rises into the space between tired buildings. People imitate the ants below their feet; swerving to avoid contact. Passing anger remains concealed within; learned by everyone to survive. Eyes gaze from open windows, scanning the streets and … More OPEN WALK
Broken letters. The unfashioning of words scattered on the floor; thoughts rejected, names forgotten. Jumbled letters; a game without love. Static angles breaking out of paragraphs, swept into piles, filling buckets, thrown to the wind where letters from lost words find new air, breathing life from the incorrect.
Roger Singer 