Unlikely 2.0

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Editors' Notes

Maria Damon and Michelle Greenblatt
Jim Leftwich and Michelle Greenblatt
Sheila E. Murphy and Michelle Greenblatt

A Visual Conversation on Michelle Greenblatt's ASHES AND SEEDS with Stephen Harrison, Monika Mori | MOO, Jonathan Penton and Michelle Greenblatt

Letters for Michelle: with work by Jukka-Pekka Kervinen, Jeffrey Side, Larry Goodell, mark hartenbach, Charles J. Butler, Alexandria Bryan and Brian Kovich

Visual Poetry by Reed Altemus
Poetry by Glen Armstrong
Poetry by Lana Bella
A Eulogic Poem by John M. Bennett
Elegic Poetry by John M. Bennett
Poetry by Wendy Taylor Carlisle
A Eulogy by Vincent A. Cellucci
Poetry by Vincent A. Cellucci
Poetry by Joel Chace
A Spoken Word Poem and Visual Art by K.R. Copeland
A Eulogy by Alan Fyfe
Poetry by Win Harms
Poetry by Carolyn Hembree
Poetry by Cindy Hochman
A Eulogy by Steffen Horstmann
A Eulogic Poem by Dylan Krieger
An Elegic Poem by Dylan Krieger
Visual Art by Donna Kuhn
Poetry by Louise Landes Levi
Poetry by Jim Lineberger
Poetry by Dennis Mahagin
Poetry by Peter Marra
A Eulogy by Frankie Metro
A Song by Alexis Moon and Jonathan Penton
Poetry by Jay Passer
A Eulogy by Jonathan Penton
Visual Poetry by Anne Elezabeth Pluto and Bryson Dean-Gauthier
Visual Art by Marthe Reed
A Eulogy by Gabriel Ricard
Poetry by Alison Ross
A Short Movie by Bernd Sauermann
Poetry by Christopher Shipman
A Spoken Word Poem by Larissa Shmailo
A Eulogic Poem by Jay Sizemore
Elegic Poetry by Jay Sizemore
Poetry by Felino A. Soriano
Visual Art by Jamie Stoneman
Poetry by Ray Succre
Poetry by Yuriy Tarnawsky
A Song by Marc Vincenz

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Two Poems by Robert Louis Henry


The hologram had friendly features, and a firm yet relaxed grip for the shaking. But his or her superior and lord had slipped-through life, like being punted outside for gnawing drawer handles on the glass-topped antique rendition.
And in said lordship's untimeliness—so inconsiderate—he hadn't time to see his child's deformity, which is it only had a right appendage to greet with.
A motif of untimeliness: society's skyscraper-suited personalities were right-side positive, a general advantage of the timely fortunate individuals. (I myself am envious.)
So what promised a genius more than single sigh of life turned out to—well, house rats.

Best friends

We hang arms over shoulders,
Death and I, howling our rough notes,
A restlessness seething in growth,
Cracking hairs split in full fists,
Thinning and fraying,
In bitter impatience,
Waiting for a doctor's vacation,
(I am going to rob his home.)
Death to do his part on a patient,
(He has a bitchin' stereo.)

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Robert Louis Henry lives in Tennessee where he's studying music production. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Madswirl, Night Train, and The Commonline Project. He supports a fancy for nihilism.