Dusk rallies curtains of low level mist forming pillows of rolling fog colliding silently into trees, fences and tilted tombstones. Small noises become shadow art, twisted into what could be the errors of nature or beasts that chase us in dreams. Silence along stonewalls fosters an anxiety of thoughts; fear … More ALONE AT NIGHT
The press of air lays flat onto me, drying my sweat on a life of skin, the surface flavor of salt, the product of my drifting released to run onto my face and arms, its paths random like the day of wandering under city shades and shadows from trees and buildings where streets warm with … More NIGHT BLANKETS
Lazy humid Lake Pontchartrain breezes slip sideways through turquoise louvered doors past a cat, on a stool with its legs hanging like green tangled moss as the man, deep with pillow worship lays still, breathing soft, his hands open and flat holds court with dreams of last night the jazz … More PILLOW WORSHIP
THAT BRASSY THING In him that thing voiced a noise, circling, surfacing, beating his insides until busting out with the jazz then rising, filling the air with his lightening, pushing brass into highs and making the lows cry tears of songs deep from wells where he sleeps, thinking strong with busy fingers, … More THAT BRASSY THING
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
A hard wind jumped eagerly from the stage, creeping into pockets and knocking on hats, forming a sweat then slapping the wall like heavy fast running water, a high tide of notes crests thick as a wave of jazz soaks ears of wide eyed souls. Dancing dresses swirl while … More A HIGH TIDE OF NOTES
I see the remembers, with alleys dark and garbage can cats jumping a jive like horns and drums busting a beat at Tin Pan corners where neon’s red and blue point to the apples best and brightest jazz long into a night that got no end, only beginnings, striking out a rhythm busting into the … More THE ONLY APPLE
Lay down thick the notes soft like cotton covering wide with sweet movable jazzy air rolling like engines full of steam boiling hot down long tracks soaking the land with notes catching people from behind and all over with the blend too strong to ignore like coffee breaking open the morning as clouds slide smooth … More ROLL ON THE JAZZ
Sleep is an explorer of anxious pathways where corridors of hidden thoughts collide recklessly at untested crossroads releasing pathways without fences. Sleep is the invisible black where eyes and fingers twitch as the visual curtains of life rise and then fall. There are mumblings of half sentences, warnings, forgotten names and prayers for forgiveness. Sleep … More INVISABLE BLACK
Roger Singer 