POETRY

“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
—Rita Dove
Finding My Fix

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

Back Suplex

Gravel-scatted hell &
we were blessed to be able
to hold on for even a heartbeat

Vase

The storm passes without snow.
The car waits loyally in the back lot.

Me and Other Bodily Accessories

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

Pit Stop in Kansas

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

if detritus is all i’m made up of

my love is a glass shard, a knife made of madness and moonlight,
and there are already way too many fragments in this house

Observer of the Patient

Her brown eyes,
how a fig
considers itself.

Going Broke

Winter sat like a wolf
on the horizon.

Black Ghosts of Ponderosa on a Silhouette of Hill

Even as the sun warms the concrete
the long nights’ sensual cold lingers in my clothes.

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.

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.

Time Travel

I count my homes—
those of my scattered youth
the sanctuary of our young family
the intermittent rest stops
of apartments and vacations.

Sadness is a Sin

If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.

REVENGE SCENE

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.

Willpower

Live the rest of your life
from one worst case to another.

Dis Place Ment

People have always coped with flooding, and they learned to cope with death.

beach
On Undressing a Color / On Undressing a Girl

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.