he crosses all seasons, jagged paths stitched to paper maps past meadows cleared by hands towns with forgotten names iron fence posts empty buildings exhausted like a defeated fighter one more corner and another, following after like a wheel off balance, desiring a warm cup of coffee to heal the wounds … More FOR JUST A MOMENT
this road that road it’s the forgot of what there was to forget a place a room, shallow, deep, a pillow of dreams the opening of seasons living in the river of today, reflecting away the ordinary fighting against “instead” without slipping into madness where broken wings turn to rags, but … More HEALING WOUNDS
that’s the cloud holding my dreams, I know the shape I recognize it often possessing my words within its corners and folds, desperate emotions, wounds, joyful expressions, the in between, and prayers for voices no longer with us, gone to rest as I stand under the cloud I trusted, a witness reminding me to keep … More REMINDING ME
forgiveness looks back from the mirror with half smiles, like the lesser wings of angels it’s the time lost, the unscheduled acts of life, trapped in water, with the allure of youth washed out in scars and wounds wrinkles unstoppable speak a visible war of seasons in constant forward motion … More A MIRRORS VOICE
the dogs of night get a new growl when backdoor clubs fill with evening voices dancers sway rhythmically within clouds of smoke lipstick numbers appear on napkins when approving eyes catch a glance yesterdays salted wounds disappear as morning stretches over empty streets
There was a lifting of dreams, a rising of hope. An overreach through memories. A rhythm of power covering the wounds of neon’s from towns without names and unfamiliar faces. He was a velvet hitchhiker searching for a yawn of Relief. Secret angels touch the soul of his shoulder guiding him away from creative misfortune. … More ONE STEP PAST
Strangers are the archives of mysteries. Sidewalk lies brand them deep; attacked by silent words and hard faces. They are without council. Stepping from the shadows their walk is light and careful when in unwanted parts. They had dreams; stripped away after wounds, fading in horizons of travels. They have no apology, though some regrets. … More WALKING THROUGH
The official opening of day lifts the blinds off night. The worms Of dreaming feast on the history of sleep, devouring the angels that attempt to free me. A warm fresh breeze softens morning. People in cars search for fields, escaping the wickedness of the game of where they should be. Its easier for the … More MEDIUM WELL
Roger Singer 