Friday, November 23, 2012

New Poetry by Phillip Ellis

"Ut pictura poesis"

The turntable taps as it hisses,
one for the spirit of dead music,
over and over again
like a rap against an empty door
behind which there is no truth hidden,
and when I have entered the room,
battered the night with what's recessed,
and cast it outdoors
where it taps on the windows
in fingers ringed with beetles,
I do not contemplate
the uselessness of all that is art.

There is no time for that.

- Phillip Ellis 2012

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