The Cafe Review

by Ronald J. Pelias My sister said on the witness stand her child was just under bad influences; she didn’t think irreparable damage had been

by Michael Biehl Every time the world ends, he breaks out in loneliness, like chickenpox. Then the world–wheel, creaking, turns again, not

by Michael Biehl Death watches from an upstairs window the little scene transpiring below: six semi–dangerous eighth graders, jostling a

by Michael Biehl God bless cookie–cutter houses, cookie–cutter poems, cookie–cutter people. Pigeons! Pizzas! Penelope gazes

by Bruce Holsapple Four wood rats drowned in a rain barrel, after recent storms not all at once — one after another repeated the same mistake

by Bruce Holsapple Small moth folded dusty white on the Desk Encyclopedia zonked by the lamp I’d guess but who could argue that, given a

by Bruce Holsapple Opened window by the sink dark wind clattering thru wood blinds — reminds me, washing dishes, of an island breeze & it is,

by Marc Swan In the kitchen by a stash of red wine, I meet Alice from Bucks County, a dentist with a story. She’s been married, widowed,

by Marc Swan It’s a small show in a grand old brick synagogue converted to artist studios — a photographer is hosting a display of eight

by Marc Swan There’s no gunshot or mayhem just the thought raging like wildfire inside my head. He’s an older man just released from Atascadero.

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