It is the 70s. 1970s? 2570s? Who knows? Audre and I have a penthouse in New York.
this is what I want you to to see: leaves falling because it is too late for them not to
Every so often, they add a tattoo in honor of some long-forgotten love.
You’ve spent a lifetime training for this.
I am still waiting for the lion
and then her eyes fully opened — blazed through with strands of mud
The poetry of Brian S. Ellis unravels, inverts, investigates, and complicates. His poems are radical koans and invitations to forego common narratives.
a folksome, gruesome opera of gauze and malcontent.
The two of us toast to a man we both love, to whatever degree, clink our glasses and laugh…
I am not a guide for every traveler of loss.
I suffer visions and many indignities while looking for the Lobster
In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers, my back a misguided quote
Millions of Americans have been affected by identity theft. It’s probably the greenhouse gases.
I’msorry I‘ll see what happens iLife
Dylan Krieger’s poetry is unflinching, grotesque, and beautiful. Her work tackles trauma, wrestles authority, and is a decadent sonic feast.
The collective failure of ethical standards
Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.
you quit wearing pants loaf around your yard in hole-nipped panties
Mostly he ate what was put on his plate snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack Once a zipper Unzipped
Live the rest of your life from one worst case to another.