I am still waiting for the lion
You let the yellow glow from eye sockets. The building up the street is burning faster and faster.
it’s touch-and-go with me and weddings
Even from this distance I could go out the door it would bang shut and crumble
Mostly he ate what was put on his plate snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack Once a zipper Unzipped
you quit wearing pants loaf around your yard in hole-nipped panties
It recommended soft porn, as gentle prodding and petting parent to parent might calm and soothe the kid.
Even as the sun warms the concrete the long nights’ sensual cold lingers in my clothes.
we drove on through the blue seal of morning as the turbines turned and winked out their hearts
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.
I have an axe with hearts gashed
You are strange, my mother said, dwelling on the past.
The collective failure of ethical standards
Gravel-scatted hell & we were blessed to be able to hold on for even a heartbeat
I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary until I smell like the bones until I am its echo…
The poetry of Brian S. Ellis unravels, inverts, investigates, and complicates. His poems are radical koans and invitations to forego common narratives.
I’msorry I‘ll see what happens iLife
I suffer visions and many indignities while looking for the Lobster
Every so often, they add a tattoo in honor of some long-forgotten love.
I tap at the alphabet while a single deer taps at the dirt beyond the brush on the far side of the tree line.