"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