Blue heavens are always open above clouds. Far below voices linger, busily hurrying with little thought of arriving. A flat wax, misty day quiets the travelers holding handles and scratched metal poles, attempting to remain upright as the subway attacks their gravity. Trench coats and book bags sway as cars tunnel noisily through a labyrinth … More TRAVELERS
IN ME …..I got a land in me, rocks melted into blood and skin from snakes. Dust and sand forms the man and tears wash it away into rivers deep with shadows, the places of past front porches and lights too dim for a full face where screen doors welcome the great and small into … More IN ME
The sight of day vanishes as if cut. Underground tremors release into tunnels creating monster echoes. The train becomes absorbed in an ocean of dark air. Doors fling open. Warm gaseous fumes slap morning faces. The platform fills with legs and shoes and eyes looking down; children are still home in bed. The atrium fills … More ARRIVING
Long whispers. Unachieved destinations. Serenity consumed. Overwhelming choices folded into one decision. Street people dancing. Resentful workers sidestepping random faces. Phones ring. Buses hiss to stops. The aroma of hot dogs and lunch. Silent faces. Worried thoughts. Fast steps. Escalators jammed. Subways overloaded. There is unity in motion. The desire to leave. The hope to … More WALKING TO WORK
A cool dusting of air, softer than the breath of sleeping children brushed across my face. A day full of hands began preparing the rising into day, yawning yesterday off with muscles only partially rested. Simple opening sounds of doors and windows blink a message of people busily moving into morning.
He lifts the boxes without effort, small or large as if the same. His features are commonly obscure, a fighters face with a broad nose, three scars on the forehead and an ear blossoming. His skin is traveled. Working hands explode from the ends of his sleeves. He wears a baseball hat and duct tape … More THE WORKER
Roger Singer 