One More Lamb

Needles are helpful
In identifying can#$@

As well evilicious
Thoughts I have

Like my husband
Doesn’t love me
He won’t have my baby

Like God is temporary
When I need him
Like wolves kill livestock

For no reason; why not compare
Murder for hunger

Unnecessary hunger, sure-
But feeding time

I always want more than has been given to me-
So too squirrels with their acorns,
Hoard hoard through the fall days

Never trusting 90 would be enough
To make it to spring

I, find trouble in believing 2 boys r enough nuts to fulfill my heart.
Wanting more…. Just because I can:

Akin to one more feast on lamb
One more slaughtering day

Since I have the needles, the
Gentle anesthesia; the knives, my
Hubristic womb

It gets easier to do, since God never
Reminded me not to.


No, This Is The Way It Starts

Oh hello – nice to meet you – yes, married. Yes, two children. Oh… how kind. Oh my! How romantic. Oh… I’ll eat your eyes… Oh my, I’ll pin you to a blanket. How divine her spine as a twizzler rope – Oh! How romantic thou art – (shoves cow eyeball into her mouth).

Married. Yes. Two children. Nailed shut as a fucking frankenstein baby deep in the cheapest pine coffin; she stares at the ceiling – it drips the tar, upon her cheek; she must turn aside for it to miss her lidded stare; unfettered view of the Lord’s glare—

She pushes upwards… Jammed. She can sense the earth filling in around her; sifting the mahogany flour — I’m in here, (she doesn’t bother to shout) — I’m not finished off yet – (she gurgles, her tongue filling in the gaps like a gulag throat);

He liked it. See how He decided it like that.

Spade, push, humph, spray the dirt over over her legs and eggs — as if normal to do that, with people lolling round as if murdering, in the middle of God’s yard; in the fetching light of day, was somehow OK —

And the Pastor begins to Pray —


Baptism Gone Awry

When I attack my birth–
my Lord


I chant in tongues

gobble it up
gobble it up.

Such vehemence; his virtuosity

& nevertheless. An uptick bang
& uberdeen bullshit

this is the Sermon

of the Lost
of the unquantified

He gives us.


eli selfieElisabeth Horan is a poet mentor. AHC Po-Ed. AH Co-Ed. She likes goodness in people. She has two sons. They are her life. She is fighting and healing. She speaks with animals. Books coming: Fly on the Wall, Twist in Time, Hedgehog Poetry, @ehoranpoet

Featured photo credit: Amanda Ollinik @Allunderonemoon