roger singer | empty pockets & sliding in

Photo by Andreas Treitz


Voices on the ceiling
angels full of sin.
Sawdust lights the soul on fire
and wounds spill out the jazz.

Cigarettes and whiskey.
Demons drown in gin.
Heaven wags tongues of guilt
while neon lights lust red.

Smoky air gets beaten
by devil driving drums.
Voices born of gravel
paint the night with shadowed thoughts.

Swaying arms
stir the room
where lies
and half truths live,
celebrating empty pockets
with prayers
and broken hearts.


The music of sway
rushes within
flowing rhythms
rolling through
smoky air
circling silk dresses
tables and lights
past thin curved lips
dressed in red
kissing cigarettes
as men speak
of jazzy thoughts
into willing eyes
like arrows
slung into space
a lone sax
pushes clouds
into tumbling notes
like mountains
rolling into valleys
where shadow walls
absorb gray faces
for the chance
to be in his

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