On Receiving Those Texts



As an accelerant connects trial
to error, as the piss of you gathers
at your feet, so does the shaking.

Unknown multipliers, legs broken
from a glance, ovened bread
calling from a lit then unlit shelter.

Set your skin aside from you,
the long hallways have their
numbers. A mark of human oven.

Following maps with legends
of wormwood, hemlock, orange
juice. You have curtains, they blaze.

The body is glass, you static
responses in pitches of Franz
Josef, the runoff is clear to drink.

A world of kindling. Marchers
cannot hide in the calves’ veins;
in every shade, you are embedded.


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Amie Zimmerman lives in Portland, Oregon, and is the poetry editor for Drunk In A Midnight Choir. Recently, her writing has appeared in NAILED, Nostrovia! Press' FALD, and voicemail poems. You can find her online at amiezimmerman.wordpress.com.