We who are lost; Mmm, Nope; Neurotic Lullaby by Elisabeth Horan

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Three poems by contributor Elisabeth Horan

 

We who are lost

Find each other in warehouses

Too late sometimes, it’s in graveyards.

Always emaciated,

dumpster diving for attention

 

Overweight on alcohol

anorexic acceptance rates

like High school anxiety

shave the head

try on personalities

 

We who find each other

and save some last hope

from each self we carry

give momentus hope for

self care, for having less

 

Night terrors,

the bruises calming

from catalyst snarls

aubergine pockets to mottled

Eye sockets

 

Mottled to moss

moss blankets earth.

bury the hatchet,

you’ll

bury the hurt

 

We who are lost.

We who are found.

Hold fast my hand

 

My dirt. My coffin,

You’ re under ground now

to find me; you’re

diving in

head first.

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Mmm, Nope

If all is human nature
and I am part of that

You say it all just comes from it
the good the sick the bad.

Then what of the abhorrent?
The tired two-timing tricks I invent

To make things into feelings
which they are not. And how/what

The fuck are feelings, anyway?
If all is natural behavior, then do

Not mark me as present, for I’ve pushed the
virtuous to drown, the heroe to bite

Off his own hand. For lack of better synonym,
I demanded him to eat a bone;

I once told a child I’d adopt him –
then promptly left town… see?

Collapse improvise TNT concrete
swinging ball chain mimic war cry.

If I am human – let the
dogs be gods, if I am natural –

Shall water be the poison grog.
If I am something you can swallow,

Whole, not choke upon – even
actions of desertion, MIA if me=treason

(which you readily accept),
no questions, asked, not even a

Background check, then I caution, rather-
strongly advise the baby steps

Toward my person, toward my slick
granite gargoyle creepy crawlies tone deaf

Cackling cheeked broom rider
co-dependent needy; a drinking fish.

I wish for any awesome kind of cigarette –
quell my lack of self-care messiness.

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Neurotic Lullaby


I’m lost in smoke
Bombastic
snake gardens
Bats come, I am one

Snake sickness,
Shodokon shadow:
haunts. Hunts. Bats are
my friends I belong
with them

Lost in caves
deep in your mouth
a cave, your heart, a cave
your throat, and art

My heart, concaving
bleeding out
lowest white count
little lamb
         this is the year of the snake

I deny swallowing shadows
I deny I am too good
all I did is so sickness

Knows to grow inside the coils;
heating mold up to base temp;
kill temp

Rocking rocking
bye bye

Frightening the babies
bats in closets
me in your throat
swashbuckling snakes

This is sickness.
Bat shadows envelop
and hide fangs
which eat things in caves

I am one I am one
rock knee rock knee
grab on to me –
I grab you, hungry.

 

Follow Elisabeth Horan on Twitter @ehoranpoet

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terseeditor

fears, futures, phantasmagorical, funsized.