“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
my father holds
his favorite drink
Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.
The poetry of Brian S. Ellis unravels, inverts, investigates, and complicates. His poems are radical koans and invitations to forego common narratives.
you quit wearing pants
loaf around your yard
in hole-nipped panties
I’msorry I‘ll see what happens iLife
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.
You’ve spent a lifetime training
I suffer visions and many indignities
while looking for the Lobster
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.
You said it was okay to blame
what goes wrong on the planet
Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time
and apples, mackintosh mostly, but any kind left in The Pub
at the Assisted Living Place
I have an axe
with hearts gashed
Do not say anything anybody else has said ever. Things are not “bleached by sun.”
My grandmother asked, “Does it feel like being widowed?”
Part of being a good sad person
is always painting the shadows
in the right direction and knowing
what sorrow to art with.
There is so little left of the tomato plants.
we drove on through
the blue seal of morning as the turbines
turned and winked out their hearts
The storm passes without snow.
The car waits loyally in the back lot.