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 Anne McMillen

as i decide my fate

i looked up into the full moon through
               silver light rimmed clouds.

soft rays of dead light twinkled,
craters of the universe

               echoing
without as much as a murmur.
exploded specters

when i burst i do so loudly.  as distinct as the

                                              echelon in the sky over my gaping mouth. pushed me further
down than i was ready to go, how the weight of the cosmos drove me into the concrete.

found the flaw
               fuck where's waldo.
i've got to dissect.  not even heaven would be safe from my steady blade.
               i'm going to open it up when i get
                              low enough.

sliced through dry skin.  there lays my
mute beauty.  physics i am
               atoms.

defiantly,
another beam of slow decay,
               a blemish on the face of God.




the exit ramp

when you had that thing in me
                                             you were blacked out,
you wore your secret secrets as a crown of sadness drizzling
                              onto my tits, covering me with hidden questions
looking for
answers in the matted pink beneath tangled pubic hairs.

my body the shame confessional.   am i a nude shrink?
no, the junkie oracle whose out-reach program
is never obsolete...

               get an arrangement of daily activities-
                              prayer groups, books, work,
                              seminars, lovers, drugs,

but it comes back...
                              that vast expanse of empty potential because love
                                             there will never be enough help
                              for the two of us fucks who will never be joined enough
               even if we are
               held together through
diversion tactics.

a reason for living is
                              the glimmer of interaction read on a face.  in smooth coal nights
on top of a filthy bed, mounting a crippled horse and trying to ride away into the
day break.
upon which i will
put on my self for anonymous
               pockets of isolation to read, dive into
               swim around in.




me, myself

routine nostalgia, a
              phone cord outlet.

obsess over
              faint abscess....
              pick at or have it
              cut out.  words, words, and then again more

words because
escape is a persist.
                                 i was ten as
                                                            cedric and i moved our legs
                                                            as fast as we could.  we were going to race
                                                            to the sun, it was "dusk"
                                                            and the sun looked bloated, fat...even with the horizon
                                                                            gonorrhea fire.

"we're going to race to the sun"
"you'll never make it".

never made it.
this latent emptiness of passion,
              you see it was
              sucked out as if a
              poison.

look
              who i was suppose to be is
              making faces at this thing
                            i am.

our are
hour
has passed.

sun fully sank.


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Anne McMillen has been published in Open Wide and Kagablog and featured in Deep Cleveland Poetry. She wrote a column for The Hold. Her local police department has blocked her calls.