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 Lisa Zaran


Our father hardly matters. During the second half of the
sun and his monster paintings, he will leave us.

Neighbors will always look the other way because
he is an artist. In the blink of an eye, he'll be on his last cigarette.

I have listened to no one when it comes to home bruises,
hopes and bleeding. I have remained at one with myself, knowing

love is not sympathetic. We, each of us, only we know
that his behavior is a disease which can not be corrected.

We are not to blame.


Like entering a maze as he goes back
into the belly of you. Without him,
your body is just an empty husk.
Silence fills the night sky.
Water reflects in the pools of his echo
and in the eyes of you, nothing.


For love is not to die
or idle on not meaning well,
but for one day, let us believe
hearts are harmless.

Time tucked away
in small cages.
Pause a minute.
When you come back, know
it's just a question.

Harmless heart, do not press
for an answer, continue
with your eyes, searching.
The day that he will not return
does not exist.

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Lisa Zaran is an American essayist and the author of six poetry collections including The Blondes Lay Content and the sometimes girl, the latter of which was the focus of a translation course in Germany, then published as das manchmal mädchen.  Selections from her other books have been translated to Bangla, Hindi, Arabic, Chinese, German, Dutch, Persian and Serbian. Her poems have appeared in hundreds of literary journals, magazines, broadsides, anthologies and e-zines as well as being performed in Glasgow's Radio Theater Group and displayed in SONS, a museum in Kruishoutem, Belgium.  Lisa is founder and editor of Contemporary American Voices. She is also the author of Dear Bob Dylan.