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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four selections from Statevillainy
by K. R. Copeland
—with nods to Robert Bruce Lehman and Kevin L. Thomas

Conformity storms in, and you, beneath concrete umbrella, barred from any normalcy, a breath away from drowning in the bloodshed, head for home. The drive alone is driving you half-mad. Your wife's life falters. Alternate the shivs with HIS and HERS towels. Power outage. The big house to the small house—no one's home.




In one network of dirt there lurk many unpleasantries, unseen by the masses, still no less there than air. Microcosmic clunks and clinks of movement sinkhole slowly, rumble when the hush is meant to come. Tumultuous sub-ciety—sunrise falls. At the cornerstone of war, all lore grows wildly.




Dysfunctional son,
whose mother's love is nothing
but a bloody apparition,

hates these bars, those bars
where mother sold her cunt
for bucks and bottles.

So many ways to kill
the time, to knock a bastard down.

The kill zone on a wild boar hog
differs from a deer,
a headshot is a hard shot and a
heartshot's even harder.

Go for the shoulder blades
with repeated blows
until the fucking breath stops.




badged-ones owl the branches
of ten wall towers

(panoptical is optimal
to scan the bad nobodies)

scramblin' vermin

nothing flowers
in this  lengthiness of shade
these compound hours

frowned upon
and
on
and
on


man and wagon
bird and vermin

exit.
(cue shun)


K. R. CopelandK.R. Copeland is a widely published Chicagoland poet/freelance creative now living in the West Village, NYC, accompanied by her lovable pitt-mutt Spyder. Her newest book of poems, 2057, has received many favorable reviews and is available through Amazon.com. The Statevilliany sequence of poems, published right here at Unlikely, was inspired by Robert Bruce Lehman's play, Isolated Incidents, adapted from the book by the same name, written by former Stateville correctional officer, Kevin L. Thomas.




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