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
A lost calling. The seasons changing without notice. A misplacement of the misplaced; The Beat Generation. They were crusaders of the word; always someplace and never without cool. Shirts and shoes unrequired from San Francisco to West 46th Street. Their pain was locked in the fists of their resistance. Eyes deaf toward the average, they … More WHERE ARE THEY?
SHIFTING TIDES Long thick lines. The gathering of waiting under city clouds. Anxious shoes and a suddenness of delirium stretches like sleep being thrown off. The mumbling mass prepares to strike out on separate paths while considering weighty thoughts; they groan without being heard. The songs of buses and car tires divert a … More SHIFTING TIDES
The jazz sweeps the lonesome form me feeding my needs and filling my wants digging into deep and pulling up like an anchor rising from the a dark blue breaking the gold blue surface releasing my pain spinning it like a top faster into fast onto the floor past dancing feet breaking the sound into … More BREAKING SOUND
He belongs to the night people; stories without legs and fast rooms with slow talk. His music is the jazz that drowns out the guilt while overpowering the need for more. His words are like sledgehammers, crushing the crystal while sharp edges rub the skin of your listening. Sleep is an intrusion to … More OVERPARTS
The overhead rumbling of streetcars on the West Side Line has long passed, along with passengers wearing hats, workmen, excited children, women with shopping bags and lovers whispering. The city has entered an era of new changes while others fight for what was. Trees, weeds and scattered flowers keep company with abandoned tracks and switch … More WEST SIDE LINE
In the jam of the group one note sets the tone, created within smoky circles the sound complete, a tight message of music, fingers pulling the jazz, drums striking up a beat, brushing the day aside, as the horn digs deep, the sax pushes out a raspy scratch and the bass mellows into an undercurrent … More SIDEWAYS
Shadowed images crowd deep into him releasing the engine of his drive; rough breathing scrambles onto walls of dreams where innocence covers sin His jazz is wind. A coursing of multiple gusts turns heads while capturing idle thoughts. He stirs under covers of restless sleep. Nightmares call him by name. A cutting moon … More DREAMS ALIVE
Raging winds ran the streets like wolves in search of unsuspecting prey. Hats took flight. Garbage can lids spiraled like runaway Olympic discus’. Newspapers trashed the sky with yesterdays sales and obituaries. Hats tumbled like children on the last day of school. Down 7th avenue a gust of random winds created the sound of trains … More ROTTEN APPLE
Just let it crash on me heavy like summer rain washing my face beating me like wind over with around twisting my thoughts straight with moving jazz like catching a train that never stops traveling hard with song holding me like lovers eyes winking fat with lust making me stumble drunk with needs and calling … More CARRIED AWAY
Roger Singer 