POETRY

“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
—Rita Dove
I Garden at the Edge of Autumn

There is so little left of the tomato plants.

Ode To the Dove Pt. VI (Avrom Sutzkever)

Yes I am guilty, I’m guilty. A sin was desirable then.
Bring the dancer back to the stalks.

An Interview with Brian S. Ellis

The poetry of Brian S. Ellis unravels, inverts, investigates, and complicates. His poems are radical koans and invitations to forego common narratives.

Pit Stop in Kansas

we drove on through
the blue seal of morning as the turbines
turned and winked out their hearts

Like dirt

this is what I want you to to see:
leaves falling because it is too late for them not to

Finding My Fix

I slumped in front of a massive desk, a passive patient corroded with failure and dread.

Landscape with Ash

You are strange, my mother said, dwelling on the past.

Tea

my father holds
his favorite drink

close up of sun
Mercury in Retrograde

You said it was okay to blame
what goes wrong on the planet

necromancer woman, witch woman

In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers,
my back a misguided quote

The State School 1984 His Given Name Was Wilbur  We Called Him Magpie

Mostly he ate what was put on his plate
snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack
Once a zipper Unzipped

robertson quay

how does an afternoon turn
on its axis?

All In

I don’t
know why
I’m in the garden
kneeling on dirt

“Artifact,” as Translated from Gluberhöff’s Lexicon

Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.

The River

I myself should never have been born

An Endeavor of Being Now

We stop doing dishes while
a mile unwinds
from the tree outside.

heavy rain
The Plot

Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time