Category: Arsenic Hour
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“Life // slip // stream” by Elisabeth Horan
It’s nothing / hangs / like toile / white gauze / surgery / comes and goes / lab coats I never wore / monkeys & rabbits / guilty / I am always / I hate the inaction / I hate the mascara / raccoons flood my airways / knowing what I don’t or won’t do…
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“Portrait of Anatomy” by Elisabeth Horan
Mine’s more like an O’Keeffe/Twombly; born of bougainvillea brush strokes; unraveling petals bearing, groaning out the sixty-eight genius children of Javier O. Huerta. He knew the meticulous folds don’t come Easily; the internal orchestration almost impossible to disseminate. But, I declare – it can be done. If you go back to the petals, really think…
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“Not on my lips anymore” by Elisabeth Horan
Your sexual preference is the strand of spider web across my eyes this morning, Annoyed, I swipe it away; it is perfect and persistent; it laughs at my effort, yet doesn’t let go. My wanting you is for what – I don’t know – as if new clothes would make me Somehow happier – more…
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Yum Yum Time by Elisabeth Horan
Hello shattered baby. Lie down – and come, I want to be free with you – I want to be something new for you – to be your new pet. I’m so fun: you drinking / me drinking fun. I want our party to be the kind they love – they covet our things, our…
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Arsenic Hour: my middle aged women troubles by Elisabeth Horan
This is the debut of Elisabeth Horan’s column, Arsenic Hour. Here is its namesake poem. Here comes a bad one. Pearled teeth, gnarled hands, knife fingers, bomb breasts, snake limbs, tortoise pelvis, wolf anus, pronghorn genitals. Here comes the malfeasance. Ivory ban, fingernail grind, tusked cheeks, flat bill palette, five toes times five…