A canvas moon paints a broad open field with silver dust. Fair opening breezes test tree tops and back porch chimes. The solitude is furious with quiet. Night fires, crackling lamps of light form great red embers breathing heavily under thin layers of gray ash. Moisture slips into the mouths of waiting roots; … More CANVAS MOON
The language of a lone whistle breaks into dark, as the train puffs like a worm on fire coursing through town, swirling and forcing its sound into corners like a mad overflowing river. Dogs take no notice. Shadows remain under bridges. Small fires burn, warming hands of the empty and lost. The earth rumbles, pulling … More NIGHT PASSAGE
He is a gathering man, like wind pulling at leaves, or dry ground praying for rain. He is the cents of a dollar, changing for no one. He spits in places shoes fail to go. Music knows him; his style is the air escaping from the stage. The aroma of a carnation boutonnière is the … More SOLID WIND
Late night breezes drift over cooling sidewalks, circling vendors with hands of profit and eyes labored with sleep. Paper lanterns, the skin of butterflies twist lazily, casting light fragments onto storefronts and strangers. Voices, parts of sentences and half words pass under weathered awnings; the air is thick like legs running underwater. Lime Street breathes … More LIME STREET
Labored wipers edge the smooth curved surface with vengeance as the final reach snaps a forceful wet slapping, shoving aside the enemy of night……water. Headlights course heavily through the drops as the beams stretch toward the next curve like a child reaching for candy. Creatures of night absorb the car, hovering over as if waiting … More NIGHT DRIVE
Under the dream of summer I become a lazy traveler, like chrysanthemums breaking and falling, spreading my thoughts like sunlight on my shirt.. Songs dance my feet into islands, stepping over warm sand and then rolling in its gold. A lemon sun held the day, judging stars to withhold and the moon to … More LEMON WARM
Day sheds its skin. The low bass of time moves daylight to its end. Streets open their hands to my arms and feet. Low light. Last light puddles. Dusk coughs a last breath. Night paints faces with shadows. Windows shut. Whispers find corners where promises are broken. Hats tip and collars rise. A cool breeze … More NIGHT WALK
Words become a watershed, the express of desire, a fountain draining to the ground, forming streams of release. The engine of day caresses the eyes as they mirror the images of streets and voices crowding into fast lines. Hats hold close the thoughts, while hands point or find pockets for rest. … More STREET NOISE
Roger Singer 