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 Michael H. Brownstein

The View from My Son's Apartment or Why He Chose this Place to Live

The sudden grief of snow early morning,
the brief brook crossing nearby frozen
blocks of stone. A breath of sleet, a scent
of flurries, snow drifting into small spaces,
clean, and everywhere tracks of small mammals.
Icicles slip and fracture, water begins
its movement away, and the smell
of winter's storm, the taste, the feel,
the enormity of so much over so much,
and we are made to feel better standing
on our balcony overlooking the small forest,
a lightning struck tree, whitewashed
brush, waiting for stillness to move.




Identity Because

His name was not the thing that matched him
Nor his alchemy to invent the knives he owned.
He had long pockets heavy with things
Deep and uncomfortable like the syllables of his name
And the company he worked for. The photograph
Laced to his clothing did not match him either,
But the items reaching from shirt pockets
And book bag pouches and the thoughts we could see
In large circles around his head—he was who he was.
Too often a lifetime is as simple as that.




Morning

The taxi cab company's back on its feet again,
                                       resting,
                                                  the sun rising.
the cement factory's chemical steam washing the air
                                                  sky-blue and cloud-light,
long semi trailers docking at the tire distributor
                                      in need of naps,
                                                  the river glows,
and the Metra train pulls in on time.

Night shadow diminishes in shape,
           criminals, whores, war mongers,
            con artists, predators, thieves,
           bullies of the dark—night is over.

Construction workers in the towers,
elevated trains off tune swing on the tracks,
coffee shops, cinnamon, coffee,
the development of chocolate—
                                                 morning, Chicago.


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Michael H. Brownstein has been widely published throughout the small and literary presses. His work has appeared in The Café Review, American Letters and Commentary, Skidrow Penthouse, Xavier Review, Hotel Amerika, After Hours, Free Lunch, Meridian Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, The Pacific Review and others. In addition, he has eight poetry chapbooks including The Shooting Gallery (Samidat Press, 1987), Poems from the Body Bag (Ommation Press, 1988), A Period of Trees (Snark Press, 2004) and What Stone Is (Fractal Edge Press, 2005).