Hot Metal Bridge

Current Issue : Number Twenty-Five

Thru the Landscape


Sit up: Poseidon’s teeth crash-land around us; I’ve lost the ability to control my surroundings. For instance: the snow falls into silver. For instance: at the edge is a wallpaper patterned with monsters and obsidian. However many shades of black or crystal. Map its thickness and weight, how heavy its existence is philosophically asleep at the wheel. To lean against it is to dream the day into a shower of comets. Beyond it is certainly the big bang or certainly a new ocean or certainly a cluster of birch trees and obelisks and all of these are not of our landscape. If you remember one thing: the sound of that impossible tearing. The sun punching a black hole into the sky. Within the sky. Through the sky. Outside it. In what dimension can these angles exist floating in spacetime. Question this atmospheric notion at the exact moment of your daydream because lately the weather’s been getting out of hand slipping dangerous along lifelines and wrinkles, hurricanes and ghost-stories entirely sapphire. The wallpaper is a mirror blackened with age; if you can picture this you’re already there.


C.J. Opperthauser currently lives and teaches in Cincinnati. His poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Ghost Ocean Magazine, dislocate, and Scapegoat Review. He blogs at