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 Constance Stadler

Killer Instinct

Bastard entomon.
 
I curse you, I detest you.
I dream your disembowelment.
 
Just the thought of your
                   Writhing
                         Flailing
                             Pathos
Graspings for last breath Thread.
Feeds my
              Bloodlust.
 
O rapture!
 
I found you
          Wounded
                  In
              Thoracic
                 Convulsion.

And I knew:
                     Here...
                              Now.

How invidiously I seduced You
        To accompany Me
           To the Cistern
                         Of Damnation.
And then...
(Pulsation quickening from Cantor to Gallop
Breath stipples to Delicious Orgasmic Ripplings)
 
I pulled the chain.
 
Swirling and twirling in the
              Suctioning gyre.
 
O I flushed, yes I flushed!
Watching you thrust
              your stinger mightily
...as a Roman tribune
Surrounded by a circlet of iron Pagan blades
               Till Final, Fatal
                       Plunge.
 
I could not bear to Honor you,
But I could not Escape the imprint
                              Desperation
             Of your drowning Death Throes
And the Magnitude of
                             My Delight...
 
...Gacy, Dahmer, Bundy
            Must have resembled
            My Reflection
               In the wake
                      Of each
                      Fresh Kill.
 
So truly
Was there a
         d
         i
         f
         f
         e
         n
         c
         e
         ?

I pondered long and hard
            F i f t e e n minutes
                        Of Hell on Earth.

Only disturbed by the Brush
            Of Silken Filament
Guide wire to Woven
                        Filigree...

...And Big, Fat Mama
Sweet, Juicy Arachnopod
            Kindles neonatal

                        Salivation.




T'Was

The maw of the town
Seemed gutted
Ordinary shrieked
In syncopation
With vanilla contempt.
 
Running from the scavengers who would
Take all of my nothing
Had tempered my penchant for '96 Cristal
The Super 8 beckoned
Such well-fattened bedbugs!
But the selling point
Was that back staircase
And my Swiss Army knife skill
 
The last time I used this
Was that pathetic fat trucker
Who doffed pants at first sashay
And then wept, Jew anew
Yes poorer but purer...
... and to wifey 'ere true.
 
Yes! Mickey D dumpster
A feast of half nibbled McSomethings
And with last napkin pit pat
High time fer that fortnight
Hot shower sublime.
 
When I entered the bath pit
Damn toothbrush in  ruck sack
But the door had locked shut.
And remarkably tight.
               Oh the water had the
pressure of a toddler
with sniffles.
If you live poor long enough
Everything makes you laugh.
 
In the middle of sudsing, goddamn
Electric went flatline
The only sound to be heard
                   were feint
drips and my breath.
 
Ochre clouds promised rupture
They were not bluffing
Upsurged, roar of torrents
Pummeled thin tarmac hide
The gash of glass shattering
Valhalla's volvic penché
Ice stab decimation
décor de la pauvre qualité
Sounding slaughter of pièce de motel
                               bon marché
 
I plunged deep into keyhole
Knife whirring as router
But with two twists
The blade
Split scything
vermilion soaked palms
 
Then a noise, eh a footstep?
              Whatever was
Nearing
Fuck, I prayed
For appearance
Of anything human
Even cops on the prowl
Anyone!  I Bloodily vowed
Would be better than the surety
Of frozen vein severed black howl.
 
As if Heavenly Kiss
The room door moved softly
I begged and I bleated
I sobbed and  I pleaded
Feeling fresh throated ripped sinew
Then suddenly
You.
 
"Good King Wenceslaus"
Blaring at decibels that consumed
Mezzo-soprano and basso
Fortissimo, Engulfing new
                   Whimper, child-like, entombed
 
...the bathroom creaked wide
 
"Bring me flesh and bring me wine
Bring me pine logs hither
Thou and I will ON HER dine
When we bear HER thither."
 
I smelled the new pine wrap round
        garroted
                  gullet
Blade wedged in hilt through
Watching guts all a' steaming
               quite the empurpled hue...
 
And then, you know the rest
Nothing left save bring home
                  The Lamb.
To fatten and fest.
 
Yuletide's true meaning ...
Finally,
         come true.


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Constance StadlerConstance Stadler has been writing, publishing, and editing poetry from the 'prehistoric' epoch of print journals to modern e-times. She was a former editor of South and West and is currently a contributing editor to the e-zine Eviscerator Heaven. Her most recent work appears in Ditch, ken*again, Pen Himalaya, Rain Over Bouville, Clockwise Cat, Hanging Moss, Neonbeam, and Gloom Cupboard. As a political anthropologist specializing in North Africa and a violinist, her influences are multiform. Work in formative years with the late poet Gwendolyn Brooks was seminal, but so was Sufi Dervish dancers, and the challenges of mastering Bruch's first concerto.


Comments (closed)

Renae Freson
2009-06-02 21:55:05

You are amazing.. so glad to see you here

annie mcmillen
2009-06-02 22:32:36

it's a great and rare occasion when i get a chance to read poetry i actually enjoy!

carol voccia
2009-06-06 11:39:08

wow...i am stunned. when i recover i will re read and re read!