Two Poems

February 1, 2019


weight of the dimmed sun 


the tongue of someone  

who hasn’t loved before 


the paddle of it 

the glass of it in your mouth      


the sky diving simulator of it   

all full of nylon jumpsuit smiling  


bodies giving you 

the thumbs up 


the problem of measuring  

the proportion of bite  


in a mouth numb  

after the filling 


the unexpected 

reconstruction of it later 


I reassure my dentist it’s fine 

although I can’t feel anything  


but weight of the dimmed sun 

red, smoked humidity  


& the trap of living  

in a rain forest 


with no rain   

& I keep eating consecutively  


more shriveled mushrooms  

in my newly vegetarian diet    


it was too much 

the chihuahua in the street    


its owner wailing, everyone 

pouring their eyes & tongues  


into the street after it    

tasting the sorrow      


licking it from the pavement       

its salty presence  


enough to remind us  

of violent men on the waterfront  


today, the ones in homemade  

uniforms & the ones 


in factory made uniforms & us      

the beaten     


in the uniform 

of clotted-tongued thirst 


bearing witness to a woman’s  

life of tragedy  


unspooling in  

loss of stolen futon mattress  


frame or sunrise       

or faithful  


dark brown companion  

growing smaller in the street    


under the tire       

I’ve kissed in falsehood before     


taken those I do 

not love to rose gardens 


I am an expert      

it tastes like gas on the tongue  


to have teeth rebuilt     

I’m open now 


push my tongue to the side  

& come in 













The goal of psychoanalysis is to help us remove ribs from pigs 

& other four legged beasts keeping in mind the line in the show  

with the character who once gave an equation of suffering greater  

than death equals the tenderest meat. The goal of psychoanalysis  

is to help us understand human behavior as a sacrament  

of the process of becoming human is unfortunately riddled  

with the holes of becoming human of the unknown stuttering  

brother of Moses & the angels hear my cry. The goal of psycho- 

analysis is to snip the frenulum of blue of a nightstick the sky blue  

of a bleeding mouth the blue of the underside of a thrown brick  

the blue of wet pavement all of the blue present when the test  

comes back positive & now your cells have a blue of their own  

a squashed blue the sort of blue that looks you steadily  

in the eye as it unbuckles its belt. The goal of psychoanalysis  

is the same as the word goal if the word goal is an only way  

to correct action.










Amie Zimmerman lives in Portland, Oregon. Her work has been included, or is forthcoming, in Sixth Finch, DIAGRAM, Salt Hill, Heavy Feather Review, New South, and Bone Bouquet, among others. She has two chapbooks, Oyster (REALITY BEACH) and Compliance (Essay Press), and is events coordinator for YesYes Books. She can be found at

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