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 Cynthia Ruth Lewis

Repercussions

If I just would have screamed at you.
If I just would have let it all out after they
patched your wrists back up and you were
resting comfortably on my couch, your
immortal future before you, that chip on
your shoulder temporarily knocked to the
side by all the recent fanfare, but I held my
tongue, pushing that white elephant into the
closet, into the dark where it didn't exist,
letting you believe you were the center of the
universe; Lazarus back from the dead and
every ego trip since then has been a thorn
in my side, a bitter reminder that silence is
not always prudent, now wondering how to
reverse the damage; how to scream myself
hoarse by letting you know you weren't the
first one, the only one with problems and
fears who staged this ridiculous act in hopes
of testing the waters; gauging reactions, as if
all eyes were riveted on that performance, all
critical decisions delayed, the entire world
revolving around that poised and hovering
blade




Scabbed and Dangerous

Got a scar on my face.
A tiny, knotted-up looking piece
of extra flesh on my cheek

had it ever since I can remember

I've always hated it.
Sometimes I feel like a freak

It's not humongous,
or traffic-stopping,
but I hate it, nonetheless

I think I might try to get rid of it.
With the tip of an extremely sharp blade,
or a piece of really thin wire
I could try to slice it off,
but then I might not be able
to stop the bleeding

I can just imagine being rushed to the E.R.
with a blood-soaked towel crushed to the
side of my face, leaving a trail on the floor,
having to explain awkwardly that I had
a little accident while trying to perform minor
plastic surgery on myself

and I'd probably get a lecture from the doctor
on self-mutilation

and I'd most likely need stitches
and a tetanus shot...

fuck it.
The scar's really not that bad

if I wanted to suffer consequences
for my actions,
I'd slice my wrists,
instead




Consequences

I try to tell myself it doesn't matter

I try to imagine a calm, blue ocean
while you are ranting and raving
in your psychotic, undying quest
to control the universe
and everyone in it

I try to ignore the pounding in my head;
the tightened nerves
the color red

I try to imagine
the mental and emotional benefits
of laying all this in a psychiatrist's lap,
but going broke in the process

I try to imagine moving far away from you,
having to find a new home and job,
starting a new life
but dearly consoled by the fact you're too cheap to call

I try to imagine
laughing wildly about all of this tomorrow
or simply
killing you today


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Cynthia Ruth Lewis is 42, and is unfortunately ruled by her anger 80% of the time. Her work has appeared in Open Wide, Zygote In My Coffee, Underground Voices, Cherry Bleeds, and more. You can contact her at bookas6670@yahoo.com.