Poetry By Elisa Carlsen

Gerry Dincher CC





Peacocks


the winter breath 
pours out of us 
like warm Black Velvet, 
undiluted
we drive to the edge of 
our small, shit-town 
and toast the merciless hills

we are so gorgeous 
in our youth
our bodies angular 
and unconforming 
in bucket seats
sex-drenched and staring 
at the millions of years 
of eroded space, 

we know we are looking 
at a mirror inside and out 
that we are as vast 
as any desert plain 
and we could go anywhere
be anyone
or go nowhere
and be nothing at all 






Somewhere Near Trinity


our church is the high desert 
              in open range

in the pale blush 
              of a summer morning

underneath 
              an unbroken blue line

our blood
has blue sky in it

our circle 
              is an empty lot





At the Old 76


midnight in a beater car with Billy Idol 
and a stomach full of high fructose 
we pray on the neon beads 
hanging around the rearview 

howling incantations for the poor
white trash, chest heaving 
we are made of gods we cannot name 
we are made of gods we don’t believe in

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Elisa Carlsen was born and raised in the high desert of Humboldt County, NV. A contemplative, her writing has appeared in Lunch Ticket, Trumpeter, Scapegoat Review, Carte Blanche, Argentum, and elsewhere. She is the author of Cormorant (Unsolicited Press 2023). Her poetry film, The Basin, was selected for the 2025 Nature & Culture International Poetry Film Festival in Denmark. She is the founder of Rabbitbrush.org