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 Jay Sizemore

When I die
               ~after Claude McKay

When I die, let me drift easy from your mind,
do not cling and clamor for my absent words.
Ghosts speak quiet fortunes of unheard rhymes,
I'd rather find myself reborn in a flock of birds.
When I die, I hope it comes in the form of sleep,
that I'm here one moment, and the next I'm gone.
I'd rather not tire, treading water so deep,
not knowing when the final card is drawn.
But so many now meet that common end,
the cannibal that grows in the gut or the bones,
so many get devoured by that demon within,
riding morphine drip through black sea of moans.
If it awakens in me, let me die by my own means,
I'd rather not succumb to the dull teeth of disease.

Living unintentionally
               ~after Pablo Neruda

I do not live for myself, I do not live for you,
my heart, my breath, automatons of preservation.
I live oblivious of the multifaceted gateways
before each footfall, every step splintering paths

diverging this invisible wood. I live
like the stars must live, incinerating their oxygen.
This life gives the gifts of the senses,
a bouquet of river, of blood, of soil and song.

I live without knowing how or why,
this body nothing but a vessel, a pupa stage,
I live within seconds, within words forming wings,

each moment mere inches from the next precipice,
I stand and observe that standing is perception,
that I exist, like light too young to be seen in the sky.

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