selected past writing at 42opus



When door of death

yawns, dress me pink.



Paint me six

feet with stilettos…

12 September 2007 | poetry, unpublished writers


Ashes in Grand Central Terminal by JENNIFER CHAPIS

Weather descends the stone steps—

sea of hats, hoods, shoulders

headed to the trains. Somehow I remain…

2 December 2004 | poetry


Wedge-shaped Beetle by MARK CUNNINGHAM

When I say, "I can feel the toxins in my brain," I know I'm wrong. There are no nerves in the brain. But the sentence itself is toxic.

24 March 2008 | poetry, prose poem



At the turnpike a doe lies stiff

along a median of dry grass. Over her black

nose and eyes, an occasional fly

stirs. Summer is here.

25 September 2008 | poetry


Meditation on the Sorting that Evens Things Out by JOSHUA POTEAT

You see? If you're picking apples,

              it is pointless to watch the sky,

to sort each starry feather

                            that falls from its transparent perch.

2 March 2004 | poetry

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