An overhead subway creeps between brownstones. Sharp shadows like falling venetian blinds cut across the moving cars. From the street below steam pipes belch gray mists. Visions of the city become abstracts of other visions; seldom is there a clear choice. Late night diners with doors open and tables full of lively hand conversations, … More WASHED OVER
There is a circle of growth, a watering of slumber, as the eyes retreat to the outlands of shadows where incoming messages open to hallways of sleep. We are captured in the snare of unknown vapors. Feet move. Hands reach. We respond with half words to voices at the backdoor of our thoughts. We twitch … More SOMEPLACE
It was a cloudy vision, a river of hands flowing thick, reaching franticly for treasures but coming up empty as they tumbled like stones, never resting, bumping into and falling over as the force moves into crowded silence past towns and under weary bridges where a cloudburst of muddied hands swim in an apocalypse of … More MY DREAM
Roger Singer 