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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Three Poems by John Grochalski

skid marks

he leaves skid marks in the toilet

he has impeccable timing
always going in to take a shit
while people are eating their lunches

he leaves skid marks

he sits on the crapper and moans and grunts
while people set down their sandwiches
their forks and knives
and sit there disgustedly
waiting for him to stop

he leaves skid marks

they are all the rage around this place

they talk about his skid marks
as their lunches sit
as some of them get up to leave
too disgusted by human bowel movements
to enjoy their food

as he moans and prays for release on the shitter

probably choosing this time on purpose
because they all talk behind his back

they talk about his skid marks
and his impeccable timing
always coming in to take a shit
when the lunchroom is full of people

they post notes begging people to flush twice
thinking that it will stop him

but he still leaves skid marks
when he leaves the bathroom

a few of them brave the smell
to go in there and look into the commode

if there are skid marks
they are happy

they are proven right
and thus validated in this sad world

they come back out into the lunch area
and scream and shout

skid marks!
he left skid marks again!

like he murdered someone's mom

then they all sit down to their uneaten food
and talk about his skid marks

they talk shit
until the lunch hour ends

and they all have to go back out
to do their miserable jobs
for at least another four hours

of another long
and unforgiving day

never leaving skid marks
never doing anything untoward themselves.

shooting at the beach

i listen to her talk
about the shooting at the beach
that had made the news in the last week

she says, you know what i think?

which when being asked by a human being
can never mean anything good

i think they should stop selling all of that booze
at those seaside bars, she says

it's the alcohol that makes them all nuts
carrying on and shooting each other

and it's not just the beer
it's those fruity drinks that they sell
the ones that come in those
fancy-shaped plastic glasses

those are the ones that really get them going

and you know they aren't checking i.d.'s, she says
those beach bar bastards are only out to make a profit

what do they care if some idiot gets drunk
on beer or their sweet grain alcohol
and then goes off to kill a bunch of people?

i tell you the world's not right anymore, she says

which is a lie

the world has always been wrong
because it's only been run by human beings

we need something else

or nothing at all

they oughta ban that alcohol, she says
they oughta put up cameras too

maybe if there's cameras everywhere
people will think before they act, she says

she's a good woman, i suppose

she votes and has kids

she goes to the beach and eats hot dogs on the fourth of july

she probably holds her farts
and makes love to her husband a few times a year
to keep him quiet

she believes in jesus and fears god

she's the perfect american fool

but i know i'll never be lucky enough
to get her drunk ass in the crosshairs of a gun
on the wrong side of a saturday night

and to be quite honest
that thought depresses the hell out of me.


it comes like clockwork
the minute we get out of the tunnel
and the subway car races across the bridge

the moment there is a pocket of light
and a wireless connection

it seems that the whole train is checking
their cell phones or other gadgets

whatever did we do before these things arrived?

it's funny
watching dozens of people do this simultaneously

pull out sleek metal devices
and go to work

it makes you feel important
being on a subway car
with so many sought after people

the old chinese lady punching in a text
the black kid getting a signal and playing music
for the whole train to hear

the white girls all picking up their phones
at the same time

chattering inanely over some sundry weekend plan
gone awry in the ten minutes they were underground

i feel a sense of purpose standing there
doing nothing but going somewhere

as the cacophony of sound from everyone's ring tone
goes off at once

infesting the silence

surely this must enhance the view
of the brooklyn bridge, i think

because i do not have a device currently
congregating with the others in the din

so i'll never truly understand this fated moment of glory

but i believe
we are all so important this morning
texting, typing, talking about nothing in particular

selecting another dance song for everyone to hear
whether or not they want to

we are all so important
surely not the mongrels we pretend to be
during the work week

sitting on our hind legs at jobs
taking orders from nobody's in cheap suits

having tired dinners
as the tired tv plays

we are the kings and queens of this great land
in contact with everyone at once


at least until the train goes underground again

and we lose the signal
are left suddenly alone and mortal
left with nothing but our thoughts

each other

and the racing black void
of time and space

until we are above ground
the great well-connected heroes of our
own life's drama

once again.

Check out John's blog at WineDrunkSidewalk.blogspot.com.