Hollow Bodies

Coffee house philosoph
playing open chords on a hollow body,
knock off beats penning cynicisms
over poetry,
the shutter-speed-dealers and
faux-pigmenters sullenly sly-jiving pomp and prints
to sleep with easily impressed marks,
confusing ego and creativity.

In the basement is a milk-box baby,
the bond to the human spirit
or a moment lost without sense or reason
in an imaginary world.
It's life—cold and infantile,
comforting and simple
like Christ might have been in his last days,
drying eyes and purifying fear with sad smiles.
It's an eight line poem that inspires a world
or an ancient dirge of a fallen warrior.
A snapshot of repression, or freedom,
or an altar.
It's a sculpture of confession and self-realization.
A brushstroke of the final kiss after
the first time you made love, and
no matter where you travel or who you touch,
or if you never see them again,
the art will remain.

-Robin Sinclair

Robin Sinclair is a writer currently living in New York City. Current projects include the graphic novel series Orphans and an upcoming collection of poetry and short stories. Robin's work has been published in various magazines and journals, including Gatewood Journal, Black Heart Magazine, Cahaba River Literary Journal, Opening Line Literary Magazine, and Freaks N Geeks Magazine. For more information, please visit http://robinsinclairbooks.com.