POETRY
“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.
you know that
baby swallows make silver ripples
in wild rivers to court reeds?
Yes I am guilty, I’m guilty. A sin was desirable then.
Bring the dancer back to the stalks.
here is the sky in stop motion, flickering,
a still shot in monochrome
You let the yellow glow
from eye sockets. The building up the street
is burning faster and faster.
and apples, mackintosh mostly, but any kind left in The Pub
at the Assisted Living Place
The poetry of Brian S. Ellis unravels, inverts, investigates, and complicates. His poems are radical koans and invitations to forego common narratives.
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 like to think I’m also sprung,
released from the furnace knocks,
done with the heavy meat stews
and salty soups.
Try not to see your own predicament in every fucking thing.
