The Cafe Review

by James K. Zimmerman you’ve got a sick crow in your yard the neighbor said but I know this: crows don’t get sick and

by James K. Zimmerman I lie between two pillows the whole bed is mine tonight you are not here I dream of

by Preston Hood Before the dead crawl out, I stitch it up with the white line of my thinking & watch the sunrise. I enter the mist though a

by Bill Edmondson Is not a town But commemoration Of blankety –blank A few two – story houses Some trailers a road Angling up

by Bill Edmondson Abandoned by a careless sailor Cast out on this verge of a dash Little larger than a sand bar They’re driven to shelter by

by Bill Edmondson It can find you in a men’s room Uphill from the phallic shrine on Molokai Enter you enter a life or what it’s come to A

by Megan Grumbling Chance glistened in the blue spruce bower so near my doze: fresh champagne, suddenly, and one glass flute in wait. Fizzing

by Megan Grumbling Have I heard of the allegory of the cave? he wonders, blue to me in pooled monitor lume, a dim room of insides, guess –

by Megan Grumbling O me, while I stride ahead, material, visible, imperious as ever! . . . O to disengage myself from these

by Renée Olander Those two creamy strands, their vague yellow tint increasing the value of the oyster’s irritation, cost an outrageous thousand

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