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 Maurice Oliver

Seems Perfect, Doesn't It?

It all begins when she offers her soul to the highest bidder.

Well, young girls really, none any older than 19. Blush of
skin. Scent of sandalwood. Full lips on the mouth of the earth.
Or maybe it could turn out to be fresh flowers sent to a hotel
room. A subway token that escapes into the nearby gutter.
"From this angle I have a better view of giddy & uproarious",
she says, after the first stiff of zero-sum imagining. "Yeah,
and the bird flu in no two snow flakes are suppose to be
alike, but tell me who'd take the time to check", I reply, with
my umpteenth personal story waiting to be denounced...

feathers crowded with crows...
corn dense enough to broom stick.

A tangle of children's bicycles.
A stack of baseball trading cards.

A book of pages dipped in the idealism of ash.
Tracing the raw finger of a violet scar. Really?
Is that the surprise ending? Funny, I thought even
if the story runs out of dialog the sky would eventually
darken and night become just another bedside table.




So Like You.Ever Predictable.Angel-Butch.

Just remember,
no one ever considered the power of change
to be great enough to become twin towers with a preference
for redheads. Or that the story would be so predictable
it would float. Or that the by-line of diplomacy would speak with a lisp.
That the forecast of bad memories would be dressed to kill
or even held tight against a forever to come. Spilling out like a liquid
necklace with the jewels ordinary cut glass.
Or perhaps just the romantic passage of an assassin's bullet
in the middle of a Caribbean cruise.
Tangerine toast. Tar graves. Galoshes that have never
felt water. Either way,
we'll hold this fat ledger of the future
up high enough in the air that the world
can see its faults, or at least until the freight train passes
or the shaman can return
with a fistful of the scared calf's heart.




Heavy Drapes.Empty Glasses.A Camera Panning.

Or next time try an Italian hillside town      layed-back in the Sunday morning of an earthquake ripple that has its faults      or an ordinary constellation of spinal tap exhibition       presently living under federal protection       with a set of exquisite legs but too much sash
idolized in a Raphael painting about cocktail leather holster or maybe even pleasing but my thoughts still sometimes wander to the anthropoid
in rare Baroque poise      braced in the jagged mirror of reflection
allowing just enough time to see the mutate with albino eyes turn out to be the flashing lights of a guardrail at a train-crossing that would offer a much better cheap thrill actually and all you have to do is rub it first.


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Maurice Oliver spent almost a decade working as a freelance photographer in Europe. Then, in 1995, he made a lifelong dream reality by traveling around the world for eight months, recording his experiences in a journal instead of pictures. And so began his desire to be a poet. His poetry has appeared in The Potomac Journal, Circle Magazine, Bullfight Review, Tryst3 Journal, The MAG, Eye-Shot, The Surface, Wicked Alice, WordRiot, Taj Mahal Review(India), Stride Magazine(UK), Retort Magazine(Australia), & online at subtletea.com, undergroundvoices.com, friggmagazine.com, tmpoetry.com, zafusy.com, girlswithinsurance.com, & interpoetry.com (UK). He lives in Portland, Oregon where he is a tutor.