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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Two Poems by Anthony Liccione

Tumble

A pair of white jeans
vibrant in the washer
machine on heavy—
the God of bleach
to soak the soil;
black jeans thrown in
like an accident
of the black hole
in the constellation
swallowing the sun
and creation,
and the mixture
never comes together.
A flay of kicks, hips
and chins tumbling, sliding
shoulders like soldiers
hiding in debris
of camouflage and war,

they rumble, one
amongst the other—
until another pair of black jeans
jumps in frayed and torn,
a butterfly knife slips out
the back pocket,
a wallet taken in fear
with the name Levi Strauss
stamped to the signature.
White jeans on its knees,
begging to spare the life,
handing over loose change
to a pair of clothesline hung
bowlegged Wranglers.

Blots of black dye bled through,
bleach that always eats a world
of color, race and innocence.
The stinging burn of skin
and cotton,
genes that carry through
the pendulum of denim.

And we slip on our jeans
from a warm tumble-dry
battered dryer, the colors
dispersed into grey clouds.
The black-white tangles
come together into
a smear of newspaper ink;
and the legs of history
repeats the sequel,
walking away equal.




The Belt

I remember his belt
mostly,
in length half-tall than I—
a boa constrictor bite
leather dryrot, cracked
black dye, fit tight
around his fat waistline.
It was in symbolic to his
own rage and fit—
and when I smiled wrong
it would come flung loose
from his pant loops.
And should I smile right
well, then I would have
been prepared to take
another beating, a crack
across arms, hands
wherever unable to protect

and the ass especially,
I want you to remember
the pain every time you sit

he would say.
But what I remember most
his pant unbuttoned, fly down
after a fierce beating—
smell of sweat and old spice
beer belly out, a drunken man
trying to hold his life together
with a wife that sat somewhere
in the dark,
come unloose and falling
somewhere in the dark.


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Anthony Liccione lives in Texas with his wife and two children. He has three collections of poetry: Heaven's Shadow (Foothills Publishing), Parched and Colorless (The Moon Publishing) and Back Words and Forward (Publish America). His forth book, Please Pass Me, the Blood & Butter is now available through Lulu Press.