The Cafe Review

by Roger Bernard Smith you’ve heard this story a dozen times her arms above her head elbows at her side a trick with her backside tucked into the

by Roger Bernard Smith she ran a foam gun in the modular home plant friday nights we jitterbugged at gleason’s on forest ave before they

by Jennifer Raha Not intrinsically but through misplaced items — a lost scarf, a necklace, a turquoise bracelet. Nothing substantive. She no

by Jennifer Raha Like the first Ferris wheel, he pulled me up, looped me like unspooled thread. Like rope. Apothecary, roulette muse. Azure

by Shana Genre Sky dark — stars penetrating the black. You meet me out back, your hand soft and damp with sweat; my belly sparks at the tender

by Ron Androla Drinking On Our Couch The Television Plays You are a pain in my brain. Wine from eastern Australia Is possible Merlot piss From

by Ron Androla Music is always about life. Painting, Novels, the best films armed with Magic, fur spoons, sculptures of The wind. Is that the

by Jefferson Navicky I’ve cussed myself into a concussion, and I can no longer speak, only write the dumbest words, like ‘frog” and “cup” and

by Jefferson Navicky He worked as a young man in the medallions collection of the National Library, and published scholarly articles on

by Michael Estabrook Things are about the same here, same as always, snowy out another boring lunch. Did you know that King Arthur (of the Round

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