i keep a pinch of soul on the nightstand & leave open the windows of this room plagued with fear of the great unknown of my heart continually exposed to grief stricken events a bible nestles close, perfumed pages advertise ageless wisdom our fleshes meet briefly as stares are visited
Original sound art by Sophia Bertomeu. Video by M. Perle Tahat.
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
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