The Cafe Review

by Matt W. Miller Tell me the pocketknife that was left over from a dream. Tell me about black bread, pork and beans, stains of cigarettes on

by Ethan Stebbins If I could place a value on the entire coast of Maine or account in full for the people I love or even approximate my emotional

by Helene Swarts Heat languishes, tired of teasing strength from stone. Huge birds tear at the heart of memory; every headline a crucible, every

by Helene Swarts My dreams are burning like cartoons on fire the characters run through the frames abandoning form calling out to me to leap

by David McCann Hours, it seemed, motorcycle riding through Korea’s countryside, first time I ever spoke Korean in a dream. “Going South. Know

by David McCann “So C me,” he’d call to Judge Moon As he tried once again to tune His Greene Stradivarius, A truly hilarious Knock-off by Bobby

by Michael Danahy I am a tree Of blood Rooted in skin. My brain Branches blood and nerve. Touch me: touch skin to skin. We will comb The birds

by Michael Danahy The Monongahela, that flammable river, for once threatened to prove its invisible light. The ghosts of sons of miners’

by Glenn Morazzini He kneels on a prayer rug of sand, in a crumpled kurta, hands tied behind his back, looking up at the lesser gods, his

by Glenn Morazzini According to chaos theory the world is in a state of dynamic flux where all things are inter–connected,

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