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 Lana Bella

Stumbling into a White Landscape

a snowflake broke half of its
fall on the shoulder of his coat,
the other half splintered off to
the bare ground, like fractured
stories of his happy ending,

he stood ice-veiled in the snow,
fingers released the blooms over
her grave, Marlboro cigarette lit
all reasoning and nostalgia into

his mind's eyes moved over the
etching of her name wrung in
powder where the pendent dusk
conspired with the perturbation
of ghosts,

I am living, a trickle of verse fell
the length of his mouth to the
miles of unfavorable weather set
in, weaving madness in this air-
less space of colorless prison-

beneath his snow-drenched boots,
the earth pitched of blood whose
arms threw out semaphore of the
dead, tensed and static, he turned
with alien feet toward a living dark,
struck mute by the stinks of loss—

Halfway Between

One day the earth will bury me, then leave whispers of nostalgia among the sere of clay. My arms will reach

for the wildly grown flowers above the grave whose sepals went unplucked;
my ears will pursue

the sounds of a great white sail from the past winter's rain, when the beads of fog draped half the sky.

I will become a nub of bone
staring up the skin of sleep, while my dwelling stirs and tears like radiating mildew.

As if the passages from life into oblivion were through the cache of a thousand spits and groans inside darkness,

I will pull mushroom from the hillside, nudge apart the pile of shale with crawling beetles
on its back. But for now, I am lying down

next to the earth and petting its midnight ear, where the loam swallows me in its vast miles.

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