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 L. Wayne Russell

psychedelic mishap pt 1

the blue recluse in the black leather coat
side steps like a hermit crab over the man
lying lowly in the gutter, that man is me,
look at him bleed! all the while...
he is a child, lost, alone, confused....
(belly laughter erupts from the lazy ghetto night.)
shuffling like the gentle jazz rain on a sad southern
rooftop laced in a thin veil of acidic mystery,
still breeding insanity anew, oh
it's quite glamorous to be fucked in the head
now, to be trapped in between this stagnant nightmare, lies
among the living quadrants of daisy chained arms,
thus entwined, to the thunderous rapture of the sub
conscious, lurking just beneath the stark-laden, doom
riddled dawning of another lonesome morning.
beads of stale beer cover broken bottles resting askew.




Into the River of Deceit She Pulled Me Down

Into this neglected palace of glass,
roaming inconspicuously, yet sloped in the
suspension of the mild night air; betwixt.

Retribution always looming and forlorn in the
silken cusp of onyx scepter. The nightmares of
radiant lovers past, now blossom; thus becoming
her muse.

Lost in death-throes, some ill begotten
soul left in this realm, be-sodden, my
heart shattered upon the bare cobbled
lanes at this; the bewitching hour.

Diamonds adorn her limbs in bare decadent
attachment; I lye now beside her, broken; in some blood
river of deceit.


L. Wayne Russell hails from Tampa, Florida and has been writing creatively since he was five years old. Wayne has been published in various zines over the years, including The Cannon's Mouth Quarterly, The Rolling Thunder Press, and Poets Espresso. His first flash fiction story, "Breaking Point," has recently been published at Staxtes.com Greek Literary Review via their English Wednesdays Internet zine. Wayne can be reached via Facebook.



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