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 M. P. Powers

anti-macchiato

    mostpoems are diary entries
dressed in poetry's clothing
mostpoems are ironic
vignettes of deadspeak
mostpoems are bukowski
in drag, whitman devoid of wisdom
mostpoems involve zinnias
boxwood ambergris susurrus
they are feet too tired to dance
the absence of blood
in the fingertips
mostpoems subsist
on air alone
a dead leaf smoldering
in a naked forest provides more warmth
than mostpoems
and mostpoets
most certainly
will never find themselves
in coffeeshops




The Messenger

what in the hell am i doing
sitting on a sofa in a stranger's
apartment at two in the morning?
no ride, some guy with eyes
blacker than ant's blood
is baking oatmeal cookies
in the kitchen. on the loveseat
occurs
a stringyhaired blond
who's nibbling on the ear
of the biker beside
her. he's wearing this microscopic
do-rag and an ill-fitting
wifebeater, and keeps giving me
redhot glares
as I fumble with the four remotes.
my clumsy fingers
can't get the goddamn
infomercial off;
I want some
GODDAMN music!
where is the fucking SONG in this BLOODLESS
mortuary? never mind... song doesn't
exist here. the remotes
are degenerate, the nibbling
persists
in all of its hideousness
and no one's
saying anything
but the salesman on TV,
who's showing the world to us
through the eyes of a bug,
tar and grime
remover.




Floatsam

The journey always ends
here, where they found him
— a giant of a man, washed
ashore behind the Delano
Hotel, Miami Beach. Pieces
of sand and broken shell
in his hair, a clump of
seaweed sitting on his left
shoulder. It makes no difference
that there was a desperate
struggle on a pleasurecraft,
a loaded gun, a murderer
without any remorse. It makes
no difference if the shreds
of some Shakespearean
tragedy still linger in the
air. The journey always ends
here, and it's the same for
all of us — the final resting place
for your immortality —

facedown on the beach.


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M.P. PowersM.P. Powers is currently seeking employment as a televangelist and/or Mona Vie salesman. His poetry is published or forthcoming in Rosebud, The Chiron Review, The New York Quarterly, Slipstream, Main Street Rag and others. More info here: www.NYQPoets.net/poet/mppowers.