The Cafe Review

by Alexander Mironov Horror, after many years, Will turn out to be less bitter, Like the boa constrictor embracing Your neck but feeling only

by Alexander Mironov Do not dream of living outside language, even if the ground is so tongue – tied that everything that falls to earth

by Alexander Mironov Addressing You, When You in St. Peter’s Basilica Put out a candle Which is like the sword of pagan Saul, So hot a candle,

by Harvey J. Baine barbecued emu, ostrich, pickled chicken eggs, wings and buffalo tongue at the Horse Shoe Cafe where Tammy Wynette and Nancy

by Harvey J. Baine Without roses for the acrobats turning on themselves in the shape of trees at night mouths open on small spines curved hands

by Harvey Mudd I paid no mind to the wind and rain; the clouds, though, these I noticed for they drifted along the building tops, and obscured

by Harvey Mudd Distant mountains, an ancient uplift of granites, snow capped, seen glancing past a woman who is silhouetted against a world that

by Harvey Mudd Disasters generally come around with a smug certainty of their place at the table. The beloved pet, the brindle cat, eaten by the

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