"therapy time" by Elisabeth Horan






broken brain out




what is it like

to be so wonderful

my dirt track

scum puddle


flea ridden

rip scab

eat muscle

drink blood


synapse broke

swing rope

elation not due

neither heaven sent


after prayer and kneel

on confetti rice


when trees fall

in slick dark night

when turkeys lay

red eggs and even the day

feels of smite


hold advice;

hold waist - arms,

teeth and tight.





Elisabeth Horan is an imperfect creature from Vermont advocating for animals, children and those suffering alone and in pain - especially those ostracized by disability and mental illness. Her collaborative nature and feminism chapbook “On This Path We Travel”, is published at Moonchild Magazine. Her column Arsenic Hour is live at TERSE. Journal. @ehoranpoet ejfhoran.weebly.com

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