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 Glenn W. Cooper

Rebirth

At the cemetery
the rabbits come to munch
on the fresh flowers.
Beneath the ground,
beneath the years,
she lies still as can be,
listening.
In Native American mythology
the rabbit symbolises
rebirth and new beginnings.
I hold onto this thought
as I place the red roses
lovingly in the plastic vase.




Five Fragments Concerning Mirrors

1.

sleep with it
under your pillow,
i was told, and
your future will be
revealed to you. 
i slept fitfully
all night. then
when morning came
everything appeared
out of focus and
sharp to the touch.

2.

the blue budgerigar
stares at his own
reflection then runs
suddenly along
the perch and
back again,
as if testing some
deep, philosophical
theory.

3.

look into it
long enough and
your dead
loved ones will
appear to you.
do not blink.
do not move
a muscle —
their survival
depends on your
absolute stillness.

4.

break one
and you are in
for seven years
bad luck. do not
break one and
chances are
you are in for
seven years
bad luck.

5.

the strangest place
i ever found one
was on the forest floor.
a shock
to bend down and
see my own face,
framed by earth
and sky.




The Walker (for Rimbaud)

He is the highway walker in dwarf woods, or sometimes in no woods at all — traversing the merciless Ogaden, or up to his armpits in snow, crossing the Alps into Switzerland. The "considerable passerby." In lines of charcoal his boyhood friend Delahaye sketches him in travel mode: his enormous stride, his legs like stilts, thick smoke from his pipe curling into the empty blue sky. His eyes are fixed on something ahead, but something no one else can see. He waves as he passes — no one responds, for he is invisible with many secrets to conceal. To go on, he writes, can lead only to the end of the world. Yet he goes on — pulverizing horizons, one after another; worlds ending, others beginning.


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Glenn W. Cooper lives in Tamworth, Australia, where he works as an inventory manager in a book store — this is a fancy way of saying he is a stock boy. He has been publishing in the small press and beyond for the last seven years. His latest book is Tryin' To Get To Heaven — Poems About Bob Dylan and is available from lulu.com.