06/03/2009
w i n d o w
sleeping in the basement
for a full and
half moon
free-falling
told the window
i do not
open
pass through the pane
of power, congestion,
circulation
creation
not
many reminders -
being under
and all
i look:
long silver screw
hole
locked white to keep
the unwanteds
out
silver bar
which snaps
it closed
just a pluck away
from fresh freakish air
unfurling
ball of tolerance
bouncing
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05/13/2009
Spring Rolls
throw an apple up to air
cut it to a flame
bouquet of white flesh
borders bloom of red
column of heart's lips
reaching spring's light
© 2009 by Patti Sinclair
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05/01/2009
thinking of yas on yr daz bithday pazzed
been sa long since i writ ya
a pome
life just had a stroke
sh'said rehab duz wonders
they hav each oter them grls
and Ise tinks of ya
ya daz bithday day na
yr mum ner a yeer
and Ise went t'us be sestrs
kissin cuzins calld us
how weese playd rode swam t'githr
grews up
live in paradice nw
cum vizit
Ise miss ya
{C} 2009 patti sinclair
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04/09/2009
this alone
is no entrance to the sadness
in her heart, this
the grand burden, the one mercy
swirls around, spirals within,
corkscrews to the stone
caught
in the throat
light comes through the plank-boards
the stone of sadness,
the shame
its threat to cut the winds
and the worst
worn and water-logged I can still
beckon the chant
no place for this
no place for this
this alone
if I lived without restriction
this is what I'd tell you
able to name it
its clean verticalness
how it puts its frame around
restricts
and your softness
your love would cup me
and I would not die if I hit
the water, the wings
you would place on my back
as careful as a thread in the eye
of the needle, my fall-
a billowing skirt
so I write and write these postcards
yet nothing delivers
simply
if I lived without restriction
I'd say
loneliness
© 2009 Patti Sinclair
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04/05/2009
overcome
nothing
but this moment
the unseen flight of harp notes
and although I sit in shadow
I can imagine the sun warming
outside this window
on the salt and pepper snow of spring
how we judge so easily
teach without effort
constantly chug the moments
like the next is more worthy
imagining the song of this poem
sung to my lover
how it will take flight
but he doesn't want to hear it
now
washed am I
(c) 2009 Patti Sinclair
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03/03/2009
sip

lip jagged
s-l-u-r-r-i-n-g
fine-china words
chipped
couldn't get a handle
drips roll away
beautiful
fine-broken delicate
thanks God for the saucer
© 2009 pjsinclair
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02/26/2009
before
you give me flowers
bathe me in red wine
shuffle me in your deck
I offer you my naked words
where you, painted into dark,
white of moon catching
a small square mirror
glued
my head tilts back
even with the stale smell of beer
cigarettes
filthy window panes
a shred from the flint ignites
I’m warmed, then on fire
there is room on your floor
for my tribe to encircle
me
my words
my death
staffs ignite,
red and orange,
bow and lick
the wings alight, speed up
ffffffwap fffffwap ffffwap ffffwap
and she rises rises
the wind from her wings pulls my hair
from its upsweep,
and we are off
found
dead
here
the new tribe
stands in a circle
cups each others hands, words
and I’m bit
naked my blood
my words,
yours:
the blank page
time s-s-s-s-s-s-serpentines-
I find the night
over
lines settled
map thinned
words traded
the flowers are turning
my eyes dry from light-
you, the other one
lost in the spirits of water
the swirls
the silence that is helpless
your words hook me
I straddle that ‘o’
I hang
the flowers-paper,
the wine-my own blood
the words
my gift
you burn
the mirror-
s’ impermance
© 2009 by Patti Sinclair
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02/23/2009
the lines of you are so clear to me now
the lines of you are so clear to me now
blue of the sky
how it holds
the red brick
the empty building
low windows clad
with white steel
how the pigeons huddle,
sunbath silently in subzero
above and under domed bricks
these love birds
this tilting sun
and wonder if you too
look there, when not here
with me
throat aching with want
of the impossible,
the coo, the perfect note
for you
look again
see the sky, the blue
so effortless
we need only look
[c] 2009 patti sinclair
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02/20/2009
T R U N K
knotty existence
shaped by landscape
air
bent we hold
the load
the sky bestows,
cumulous, dark, blue-
twisted we are by surprise
blind powers
the fine pocked line of before,
before you-
gray naked tree
yet buds
sky thickens
its roam
of outline
unpredictable
bulbous
and gnarled
© 2009 by Patti Sinclair
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01/30/2009
AT H A N D
lost my hands
to the ones holding hers
body the bridge
to what one can see and what they walk
toward, cannot grasp
the unmoving photograph
cannot reach
into the muted late sun
step in front of them to say
turn around let me thank you
for holding on the best you could
it was enough-
walk them to their suns
soothe blue moving bumps
on their hands
(c) 2009 patti sinclair
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01/09/2009
E N L I G H T E N M E N T
walk the land
like I am 51%
part of it, found
a new way to walk
to school in the light
more in the light
and by the path
I find an ice patch
to skate on
[C] 2009 patti sinclair
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