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 Lyn Lifshin

Facing, For Once, Where I'm Going

First day the buds
begin to swell. No
matter tomorrow the
mercury will drop.
The birds were on
the maple early. I
want the body’s drug,
not under another
body but narcotized
by music in a minor
key to roll and shimmy.
I want coins on my
lavender skirt to
catch ever last bit of
light they can suck up,
wildness pulsing, the
tremors, the snaky
undulation, belly and
hips with their own
life. Quiver of fire. Me
and not me, always
something veiled




How Much Longer Can We Do This? A Woman Asks in Ballet

until we die I tell her.
Guess what, there was a
woman who always wore
lilac, came to class a
week before.
Why be a
foot for love when you
can be a dancing foot. I
Want to die in ballet shoes
not boots tho I dream of
riding into the wind on
the blackest filly. If I played
blues fiddle, my fingers
would bleed for the horses
I won’t ride, the dancer
I could never have been. But
in some mirrors I can be
more than one woman, more
than the one with words
leading you on but one
straddling a stallion,
another bent back in a
tango no one ever comes
back from as they were




Belly Dancing on a Day Snow Keeps Melting

I could be a woman
who danced for
birth, danced for
spring the red bud
unfolding. Diamond
beads of sweat.
Before hospitals or
anesthesia, the
narcotic of hips and
muscles glowing,
undulating like
oceans, controlling,
relaxing, hypnotic as
swirling scarves,
candles on fingers,
a shadow behind
a screen, glides, floats,
the veiling a cape,
a lure, hooks
on the mystery


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Lyn LifshinLyn Lifshin’s recent prizewinning book, Before It’s Light, was published winter 1999-2000 by Black Sparrow press, following their publication of Cold Comfort in 1997. Another Woman Who Looks Like Me will be published by Black Sparrow-David Godine in September 2004. Her poems have appeared in most literary and poetry magazines and she is the subject of an award winning documentary film, Lyn Lifshin: Not Made of Glass available from Women Make Movies. She is working on a collection of poems about the famous, short lived beautiful race horse, Ruffian. For more information, her web site is www.lynlifshin.com.