a first clean moment before
the lice hatch pink meat holding
my bra in my hand on the stairs we are rain hair mammals
we drip on what is below us look between your legs squatting
or your arm’s penis pointed down stay on the stairs, fool
on the cusp of abandoned desire you’ve no friction left no
bowdrill or flint—that was cinched downstairs with him ovulating
white eggs of unhatched desire it’s not top-heavy, too heavy
it’s white it’s dandelion you are allergic to or where water
finds its way into the house
Amie Zimmerman lives in Portland, Oregon. Her work has been published, or is forthcoming, in Sixth Finch, Thrush Poetry Journal, Salt Hill, Puerto del Sol, and BathHouse Journal, among others. She has two chapbooks, Oyster (REALITY BEACH) and Compliance (Essay Press), and is events coordinator for YesYes Books. Find her on twitter at @amie_zimmerman.
ISSUE NINETEEN: Stymy A Seller
Holly Lyn Walrath
Orbital Debris
Jane Akweley Odartey
From a Platonic Angle
Jeni De La O
After a Hurricane
Tam(sin) Blaxter
Earrings (Yves Saint Laurent, Paris)
Amy Poague
The Beforeworld: Riding the Bluest Line
Through an Archive of Sky
Chris Winfield
Identivacationing
Amie Zimmerman
Trust
Jill Khoury
chronic lyric i
Kevin Casey
Right of Way