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 DB Cox

empty frames

time rides a river—
memories rust
like old bullet holes
in highway signs—

sighs of relief
now that you've
all gone
moved along

with your hard facts
about the bags
of flag-wrapped kids
who ate red dirt

on height-numbered
killing hills—
celebrated at home
with silent songs

of praise
in secret parades
down vacant
american avenues—

immortalized by artists
with too many names
selling monuments
selling paintings

selling empty frames




krypto-night

after another night
of stumbling done-in
down metropolis streets—
too fucked-up to fly

superman lies
eyes closed
still under the influence—
naked in the space

between night & day
conjuring pathetic
x-ray visions
of a spent comic book hero

too tired
to walk through walls
or leap tall buildings
with a single bound

too strung out
to keep it all
from falling down—
dead certain

that truth, justice
& the american way
are no longer worth
the never-ending battle

so, for the sixth time tonight
the frustrated
man of steel

grabs the .38
from the bedside table—
puts it to his head
& pulls the trigger




coming soon--

making
that long journey
across space
trailing a veil
of righteous light

coming—
to close the door
on this wasted
undertaking—

coming—
to throw a black shroud
over his son's
forever-sorrowed face

coming—
to pull the plug
on that high-voltage
love
that's been hanging
over all of time
a flashing neon sign
screaming—
"look what I did for you"

coming—
too late
to decode
this baffling
black book
of innuendo

too late
to show us
where he's
been living
undiscovered—
in the gray space
between book
chapter & verse


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DB CoxOriginally from South Carolina, DB Cox resides in Watertown, MA.

At the age of 14, picked up the guitar, and a couple of years later played his first paying job with a band. After a 4-year stint with the Marines, spent a few years in the southeast playing in clubs and bars. In 1978, moved to Boston to attend the Berklee School of Music. Eventually found the blues circuit in New England.

He enjoys writing poetry for the same reason he loves playing the guitar; a way to communicate how he feels, at a given time, on a given day.