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 Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

Severed at the Wrists

Severed at the wrists,
I might as well be.
They took away my guns
And brought me here.

The court won't let me
Have my guns. I will
Write my congressman and
They'll be sorry.

My hands palpitate.
My trigger finger
Feels naked in this world.
I will make do.

Bring me some paper.
I will write Charlton
Heston for this ruling
That robs my rights.

I'd grind my teeth, if
I had any left.
I'm missing all my guns,
Each one of them.




Number One

Are you number one?
The big cheese?
Numero uno?

You can't get me out of here?
Then why am
I wasting my time

Talking to you, boy?
Get out of
My room, poor bastard.

If you can find my
Dignity,
Be sure to let me

Have it back. I'd take
A couple
Of cigarettes if

That is not too much
Trouble for
You, boy. Otherwise,

Close the door on your
Way out and
Watch your useless ass.




Blur Your Sight

I want to give you my sight.
I want you to see what I see.
The fish eating cottage cheese,
Head as big as a grapefruit,
Scrambled eggs for speech.

I want you to you hit
Your face until it begins to bleed.
Have the blood going into
Your eyes and blurring your sight.
This is what I see.

I want you to run into
The streets like the Spaniards in
Pamplona, running with them
Bulls, only this time it's cars
You must watch out for.

I want you to stop your
Whining and take the medicine
Like I had to all these years.
This is the only way that
You will know me.


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Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal, 37, was born in Cuernavaca, Morelos (Mexico), and has lived in Los Angeles County since age 7. He works in the mental health field. His poems in English and Spanish have appeared in The American Dissident, The Blue Collar Review, Pemmican Press, and Struggle Magazine. His first book of poems, Raw Materials, is from Pygmy Forest Press.