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 Lizzy Swane

Icicles

I

Cousin Crystal, her daughter Treasure
watch my glare, amazed as I hasten
their fate. Pop walks outside, my face
a snarl. He asks but I growl at their cold
scraps, Get on with it then, will ya.
Crystal & Treasure want to know my vision.
Mom steps outside to say, I rather liked them.
Me too Mom, me too.


II

On my parent's deck, discerning
what I don't want to know, dazed
at the sight of them, their drips
of unbecoming, slow decay
of all that was firm, weakened
by the passing minutes. The warmth
everyone is celebrating, I hate.
How soon they won't keep hold,
their rot will send them by force
of gravity to scattered pieces
becoming fluid, fragmented bit
by bit, disappearing into the earth
someplace this house can't follow.




The Parenthetical Woman

Between red wafts of blood earth and adult
forbearances: a terrain she hid among, sans
subsistence, refusing even to sleep with dreams.
She defies the white men's assault with women:
dark complected police, hesitant to set the broken
bones in her arms with their hair. A coup against
constructing another bridge over the river, bass
boosts beneath her, Amtrak trains bypassing
the child's hometown station and ordinances
prohibiting such nocturnal inhibitions. A naked
curfew dances from ear to ear, a preamble
of fear to disgusts apportioned each eye.
A full coffin of it waiting to climax. From the bald bud
and falling petals of a Jennifer Lopez flick;
credits for an empty room.



Lizzy Swane garners crits and kudos as needs be. Send yours to lizzyswane AT gmail DOT com.