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 Dylan Krieger

ghost porn

despite the sting of solar vision
I still self-identify as a child vampire
holding whole generations up at sexpoint
no golden winner     only silver indecision

when the city streets ran out of strippers
we cat-called the river:     hey sexy! big muddy
shakes its ass out to sea sick of dredgers & jumpers
what's one more corpse on the forklift the stork

swallows for breakfast? I'm all for crying out where
wolf
or genital warp     libeling the only viral shine that
spreads us too thin at night between setoff warning lights
& buckets of nothing but the dust we become under history's

thumb nail gif: an imperial conquest surprise-ending in
faceplant instant replaying forevery eternity squared or
divided by zero     in the face of pain there are no heroes
but out here in the flyover states both stay stuck in a riddle




borderline

I'm the borderline hoarder bored gargoyles cum quick to haunt w/ their crouching hindquarters
in the attic dust, I'm not afraid to say I found an alien musk that sent me undressing my ancestors
one by one into ovens of rust—here's your bundled lump sum: crunch the numbers down &
ground them into backhands of rabid distrust. on the path back to straight & near-loved, I wake
up in a day-glo chokehold while the nightclub goes up in smoke-rings out the top. what a
triumphal human test-drive: to spy your former selves dismembered by the karmic wheel of
arson—whether biblical damnation be fable or forecast, I'm counting myself able to reform
my heathen ways by dry-heaving my way into america's heart-seams: borderline states of a
borderline emergency, borderline requiring triple bypass surgery—and the borderline real & the
borderline dream share a j on the street where they're borderline free from all the seething
vows of vengeance the sea sucks through its teeth, like a family man stubbing his terminal daze
on disease: the hunched statues all see it, but they're not sure which potion to drink to piss clean




committed

today I googled          how to get committed          as if a wedding          dress & medic's
coat were cut out                   from the same un-cloth:                   bobbin full of fairy
dust & buckles          latch at watch your back           a riddle where you lose your
head but grow a                   golden shell against                   your every former self
w/ one priest                 in one tomb                 I thee woo                 using this sparkly
superstition metronome            clique b/c there is no            going home for
little fickle aliens                        padding their cells w/                        space age
anomalies like             optional sex organs or             chernobyl drone porn
let's consummate                   our stakeout vows                   by dying on
this dotted line           slice here and here           and then recline
to a time when mom            & dad staked all the            vampires outside
walked their own sanity               lines down the mirror               which made the house
hum like a fuselage            finding its underside            no longer tied to the night



Dylan W. Krieger just graduated with an MFA in poetry from Louisiana State University, where she also served as a writing instructor and co-directed the annual Delta Mouth Literary Festival two years in a row. Her cats and warm jackets, however, still reside in South Bend, Indiana, where she was born, baptized thrice, and graduated from the University of Notre Dame. Her first full-length collection, Giving Godhead, received LSU's Robert Penn Warren award for best poetry thesis. Poems from its pages can be found in several online publications, including Juked, Small Po[r]tions, Deluge, So and So, Crab Fat, and Smoking Glue Gun.



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