My grandmother asked, “Does it feel like being widowed?”
Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time
Yes I am guilty, I’m guilty. A sin was desirable then. Bring the dancer back to the stalks.
I imagine that undressing a color, though, would be so much like peeling a memory away from the grey and the white matter of your brain.
The poetry of Brian S. Ellis unravels, inverts, investigates, and complicates. His poems are radical koans and invitations to forego common narratives.
you know that baby swallows make silver ripples in wild rivers to court reeds?
Mostly he ate what was put on his plate snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack Once a zipper Unzipped
Empty vessels make the most sound, I think, as you rip the fairy lights off the handrail.
I am still waiting for the lion
my friends’ fathers are dropping I mean dying like flies
I am not a guide for every traveler of loss.
The storm passes without snow. The car waits loyally in the back lot.
Lights on the dashboard spell out “You still can’t kiss me”
and then her eyes fully opened — blazed through with strands of mud
how does an afternoon turn on its axis?
Winter sat like a wolf on the horizon.
You let the yellow glow from eye sockets. The building up the street is burning faster and faster.
The two of us toast to a man we both love, to whatever degree, clink our glasses and laugh…
Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.
Okay, picture this: We’re in an elevator. The elevator shuts down. It doesn’t matter where we’re going, only that we’re alone.