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
Gusts of air. Turbulent waves, hot and steam filled, rush like running thieves up the subway stairs, circling her hair, teasing the ends of morning care. Her gum snaps like frenzied whips, keeping time with stories she shares. Turnstiles twist like fallen windmills releasing the aroma of rust and useless oils; a fine baptism of … More ANXIOUS EYES
Street lights sign in as dusk resigns to darkness. Scattered shadows of leaves dance on midnight sidewalks. Homes sleep in silence. Dark breezes lift curtain edges, creating life from worn cloth. Porch lights dot the galaxy of streets. Picket fences keep strangers away but ghosts pass through freely. A train whistle, distant yet sharp, bleeds … More MIDNIGHT
She’s got the pain of me in her walking hard on shadows of who we were. Her voice is my jazz favoring thoughts she planted with the water of her touch. We have captured the deep caves of each other seeing in the dark what others with eyes will never grasp.
A high lunar slice silver painted a sterile face unlikely warm soundless suspended solidly overhead where hinges in heaven slip it over nights curved sky speeding to a place over there where people point at shards of light reflecting on water hoods of cars windows the ancient stone the Mona Lisa moon half smiling. … More MONA LISA MOON
Innocent violence creates the sediment of the street. The people, the open windows, full of colors, spirits lifting out of gray shadows and black roads. The streets are never satisfied, always hungry, hands reaching Hammering voices, Words speaking loud and sweat dripping. City spirits drift uneasy, searching … More HIGH GROUND
Anxious up-filled boxes of unpacked thoughts awake. Hands begin to assemble the day. Idle parts take form. The first steps of the city begin to move. A mass of faces blur into colors. Space is challenged. Lines like yesterday appear. Armies of legs swing into force as the city moves the gears of People.
I’ve become The dot On the i In your sentence About me That i no longer Fit with u. I am d r i f t i n g, Settling uneasy Like turbulent Stormy silt Pushed out and Away. Clouds watch me Wander as my Hands slash At the air With words Of anger From … More THE DOT ON YOUR i
ON DIVISADERO A hill with faces and sidewalks, green shoes and sneakers without laces, chalkboard menus, peppers and onions and bicycles passing apartments with yellow shutters and terracotta pots with flowers reaching over touching heads as buses crawl and street cars sing the cables and pulleys stretch, the youth laugh with tan skin and … More ON DIVISADERO
The pop of jazz rushed a line from his horn long with lifting a breath desired as the world slips from his eyes opening dreams with furious release like night runners searching for safety where every street is an alley of a song yet formed as angels slip and run and crowds lean into … More OPENING DREAMS
Roger Singer 