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 David McLean

it was night

it was night and patient emptiness
like a blind man playing a silent piano
made of arrogant paper, a boat
to sail several decaying oceans

of mesmerized salt; there is a hole
nowhere in this perfect plenum
and a poem is words with cancer,
blind men and pianos are everywhere,

it is night i do not care

married to the sea

here comes memory, married to the sea
like Lars Frederiksen, maybe,
and turning tricks for history
where time lives its silent night
that we splinter with desire and passionate
absence, locked down or free
like nomads might have been,
maybe, here comes memory
again, and the seed of meaning
married to the sea

generalized nightmare

morning comes like a generalized
nightmare, a generic sense
of something missing

although the trees and stones
are resolute being, not needing
this despicable freedom

we bear, wound through us like electric wires
and anxiety. morning comes with a sun
smelling like an essential absence

where time is always night and life,
confusion was sex
and confusion is quite alright

David McLean is from Wales but has lived in Sweden since 1987. He lives there with partner, dog and cats. In addition to six chapbooks, McLean is the author of three full-length poetry collections: Cadaver's Dance (Whistling Shade Press, 2008), Pushing Lemmings (Erbacce Press, 2009), and Laughing at Funerals (Epic Rites Press, 2010). His first novel, Henrietta Remembers, will be released by Unlikely Books in 2014. More information about David McLean can be found at his blog More information about David McLean can be found at his blog: MourningAbortion.blogspot.com.

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