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 Jay Passer

Vegas Rules

I didn't elope
I didn't lose my ass
I didn't get a whore
I didn't go to the buffet at the Belagio
I didn't leave anything there
Except a portion of my identity as an American
Which according to the US Government
Rises in direct proportion to the cost of La Liberte eclairant le monde
And fits neatly on the surface of a postage stamp.




I Feed the City

Censor the thing and fill the operating room with bacteria
Take away my freedom to ignite personal hypocrisy and hunger strike
I wear shoes on the outside of my body
I venture to outline a descriptive motivation behind suicide
In the derriere vernacular posited by Lacan and Foucault
Within my own mind, extremis tenderloin
Bite back mi hombre, take flight risk the house and kids
Cup of water bedside sulfur dioxide, heat-seeking dreams
It used to be the telephone to awaken you from hell
I feed the city particular nouns based on historical reverie
Look up to a positive force a billboard of glowing neon
Buy the correct product for your safety depends on righteous activity
Peace of mind depends on the proper etiquette of weaponry
What a ticklish issue
Like a fart ripping through the submarine of gospel




Ballpoint Washed Off Hand

I remember the electric silence of symbiosis
I remember breeds of lapdogs and Chevrolets from the 1970s
The ballpoint pen washed off skin of the hand in question
Curiously infinitesimally groping for clutch of heart
The stoke of origin yielding to fiery furnace core
I remember strangeness behind the familiar walls
Somebody indefinitely waiting out a sentence
The autumnal cluster of small birds fearing
And there were cats whose undivided attention
Included her honor sitting on the toilet seat
A red smear of life becoming livid as the tears fell
I remember her piercing my ear with the needle
Hot from the match dipped straight into smelter pot
And eventually stealing the keys to the flame
Too bad I can't remember her name


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Jay PasserJay Passer is the author of Laugh Until You Scream and The Dog I Fathered. His most recent work appears in 3:AM Magazine, Red Fez, Poetry SuperHighway, Full of Crow, ALBA, Horror Sleaze Trash, and is forthcoming in Calibanonline, June 2011. He is a native of San Francisco.