These hours

By Elisabeth Horan

 

These hours of penance

the thing I despise,

the thump of pain in my vacant hole,

 

snakes slither as if my tongue

 

was sand for them to burrow home—

ears ears

 

the buzzing hives

indoctrinate a plan

for survival I make wax

 

to plug against the drone,

 

the melting whine against which

I fight, the earplug larva

I should crumple again and

again in every cavity

I wish to know of,

 

please make it stop

 

the circus wheel

the vertigo, freak show beard,

flaccid breasts, no bra,

no girdle, one leg,

three arms, combined cranium,

lonely wolf pup, suckles

 

my witch tit with enthusiasm,

 

I fall to the hobbyists, to the hoarders,

I am no more a human, for

the breath of God

 

has made me sterile, no Eve,

 

no Eden, shall I decode,

no serpent speaks to me

 

its tongue already down my throat,

 

seeking to belong to a dystopia

where yellow eyes,

yellow livers,

make excellent soup

for writhing balls

 

of newly hatched snaklings;

the world born within my harem –

 

and this death just keeps on seething.

 

Elisabeth Horan is from Vermont, advocating for animals, children and those suffering alone and in pain – especially those ostracized by disability and mental illness. She is Editor in Chief at Animal Heart Press, and Co-Editor at Ice Floe Press. She has several chaps and collections out this year including Bad Mommy / Stay Mommy at Fly on the Wall Press, Odd list Odd house Odd me at Twist It Press, Was It R*pe, from Rhythm and Bones Press, and Just to the Right of the Stove, with Hedgehog Poetry Press. She is a poetry mentor and proud momma to Peter and Thomas.

Follow her @ehoranpoet  & ehoranpoet.com

Elisabeth’s new poetry collection will be released by us here at Cephalopress in September. Stay tuned for more of her work and updates on the upcoming publication.

One Comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *