Browse: Issues:

Vol. 4, No. 4 Contents

I'm Warning You  by DORENE O'BRIEN

So you get fired for making another offensive comment to a coworker who actually is a fat slob with a bad attitude and fuck that eating disorder and clinical depression bullshit, and fuck your boss, too…

Dressing Sophia  by SUSAN PORTER

2 December 2004
fiction, short story

It's 10 a.m. on Sunday morning when Doug calls to tell me that Captain Fun is having a sale on its entire stockpile of mannequins.

The Confidential Mechanic  by ALICE WHITTENBURG

In the morning her postcard lay in the mail safe, a little apart from the other mail, singing, "Enjoy yourself. It's later than you think."

Caravaggio's Rothko  by BRIAN WILLEMS

You've always feared that modern art was a sham, that a bunch of apes with Crayolas could do the same, if not better. I can prove otherwise in spades.

Jenna's Big Breasts  by SHANE ALLISON

2 December 2004
poetry, catalog

Jenna's got a gangster rapper in her breast

halos and Hula Hoops in Jenna's breasts

Jenna got caffeinated coffee in her breast

Jenna's got Jimmy Hoffa stashed away in her breast

Out There in the Dead Corn:  by JEFFREY BEAN

2 December 2004
poetry

someone's horse. A loose horse.

Whose horse? Maybe a favorite.


Am I from the countryside?

I ask the horse or the building.

Ashes in Grand Central Terminal  by JENNIFER CHAPIS

2 December 2004
poetry

Weather descends the stone steps—

sea of hats, hoods, shoulders

headed to the trains. Somehow I remain…

Avalanche  by JENNIFER CHAPIS

2 December 2004
poetry

I haven't had sex like that since:

Aspen, snowed-in,


your thumb

deep in my anus, heart…

Peter Sellers  by MICHAEL ESTABROOK

2 December 2004
poetry, light verse

…this morning I was

surprised

to see

my wife

looked like

Peter Sellers.

A Day at the Beach  by MATTHEW FRANK

2 December 2004
poetry

We say, "Revile or Rejoice!" as if

there was a choice in the matter. I turn to you;

our eyes are trying. Shrieks of seagulls marry

across the water.

All Temptation  by MATTHEW FRANK

2 December 2004
poetry

She will soon hear your heart

beating her cheeks flush,


think of the baby

stretching its fingers for the bait.

Cookout  by SANDRA GRAFF

2 December 2004
poetry, prose poem

Halfway to wilderness behind our house, on a tray I carry the ingredients for our supper.

René Descartes Approaches His Reflection  by JOSH HANSON

2 December 2004
poetry, prose poem

Suppose you're me, for just a minute—that's what I'm asking you to do—, just suppose for a minute that you're me, and ask yourself what it is you want to hear, because that's what I want

Speech  by MATTHEW HENRIKSEN

2 December 2004
poetry

The part that I forgot about the robots

(Making them moral) speaks as now I dream

In actual rain (or am actually dreaming rain)

Of ghosts in the machines.

(Because) The Jesus Tree (Is Not a Tree, But a Switch to Hold Up the Moon)  by STACY KIDD

2 December 2004
poetry

The man stands on a birdbath to learn

the language of feathers, and like the wind,

when the man speaks, he reaches

deep into his pockets to charm the sky.

Hood Ornament Radio Signal  by ROBERT KRUT

2 December 2004
poetry

I'm going to melt

a cross, a statue of the Buddha, and the arms of Vishnu

into a hood ornament of a naked woman with wings of fire,

set it on my car and follow it like a compass.

from above  by ADRIAN LURSSEN

2 December 2004
poetry

or you may arrive by helicopter


(a way to kiss over paperwork)

Rehab  by DAMON MCLAUGHLIN

2 December 2004
poetry

The summer we tried to kill ourselves it was humid.

The summer the floods came.


We ran headfirst into the water, and when that didn't work…

Wildfire Triptych  by SEAN NEVIN

2 December 2004
poetry, editors' select

For two full days the sirens

realized their high notes

in the quivering saucers

stacked inside cupboards…

Butchery of the Human Heart  by ANDREW MICHAEL ROBERTS

2 December 2004
poetry

All fist and forearm,

apron-stained, I am nothing to you—

a scrap. A skin. Offal of lust.

I am giblets and gristle—

Lament  by ANDREW MICHAEL ROBERTS

2 December 2004
poetry

This pack of pot-bellied songbirds squats

at gutter's edge all night, passing butts

of Lucky Strikes and belting the blues.

My window's stuck up and I'm laid low.

Carmen and I  by CASSANDRA SCHIEMANN

2 December 2004
poetry, prose poem

This is where we enter. Carmen and I. Mom and I. Two rotten, two diseased, two dying. I say, "Mom, once we knew what it felt like to be idle." She's throwing frozen fish sticks in the oven for dinner. I'm watching her watching television.

from Alphaville  by PETER JAY SHIPPY

2 December 2004
poetry, abecedarian

An accessory before

curtain datum


eats forbidden grapes

(helps in jumping).

from Shy Green Fields  by HUGH STEINBERG

2 December 2004
poetry

God is everywhere, cake is not,

which is why I like it, God says


and lifts his fork from the plate…

from Shy Green Fields  by HUGH STEINBERG

2 December 2004
poetry

A duet built around the word help. As I am

a man, I cannot talk without my body, my


body keeps leaning into you.

from Shy Green Fields  by HUGH STEINBERG

2 December 2004
poetry

The choreography is deliberate so we know where

to put our feet. What then, these intersections?


Your body is so literal: even unexpected, low…

from Shy Green Fields  by HUGH STEINBERG

2 December 2004
poetry

Great song, as in not alone, think about

what's possible, not imaginary but picturing


the uncountable kicks of you…

from Shy Green Fields  by HUGH STEINBERG

2 December 2004
poetry

Being here. It's ok, to be here. The

grit that life has in it. It's mechanical


but I'm used to it. I feel the buzz inside

you, your body and laying beside it.

Of Foreign Lands and People  by BARBARA YIEN

2 December 2004
poetry, editors' select

The day my brother brought me to the pond

of one thousand screaming white swans


it was winter in Akita.

White Space  by BARBARA YIEN

2 December 2004
poetry

A strangeness is amiss. The soup is not puree

of stinging nettle. Where are all the wonderful

varmints? The sneezing turtles? The lace-thonged

fascists? This morning the road north was not paved…

42opus is an online magazine of the literary arts.

copyright © 2001-2008
XHTML // CSS // 508