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 Jonathan Hayes

A $2.79 lb Confession

Every afternoon I walk through the Stockton Street Tunnel to Chinatown
To spend what little of my unemployment check I have left after paying rent

My purchases are usually fruits and vegetables, and sometimes dim sum
And with each trip, I craft a robbery of lychee from a random local market

One, two, or three whole pieces of the small pink and green armored skinned fruit
Gets stealthily stashed in my cotton blue outer sweatshirt pocket

Taken back to the apartment and placed as ornament on the windowsill
Until later in the night when I peel the fruit, eat its meaty white translucent flesh

And spit out the seed.




The Exhibit

Animals gather
'round the carcass

Paying top dollar
to enter

A bronze statue
in meditation –

Gertrude




It's July 4th

At City Light's bookstore – no one is here today upstairs in the poetry room,
while sitting in the poet's chair by the open window.

I'm reading a collection by _______ _______________.

Mind at a steady calm, but that ol' perpetrator, Loneliness, over shadows the current page on my lap for a good minute, until I stand up from the wooden rocking chair and

see a tattered black nylon scarf laying like a dead snake coiled on the floor planks,
and no one else will be up here today,

after I walk down the stairs.



Jonathan Hayes and his sweetheart just climbed Mount Fuji in the middle of the night to see the sunrise, and they will never do that again. Now he's back in San Francisco living on the un-holy Nob Hill, or Tender Nob, depending which way you wear your ball cap. His semi-new book-length poem, T(HERE), was released in 2010 by Silenced Press, Ohio.