The Cafe Review

by John Michael Mouskos “I hear Gordon’s been painting; He must be feeling better in himself.” “No, Gordon’s busy dying; The cancer’s spread.

by Pamela Twining I laughed at Death again today I laughed as only Life can laugh snatched tomorrow from the jaws of the bone collector burning

by Pamela Twining as i slough off another piece of you i still sometimes wear your skin see through your eyes walk journeys my legs have never

by James Reidel The inspiration here is too window shopped, But the cat arches against the glass, Getting comfortable after the long winter,

by James Reidel The cherry ones, So painfully close to the weakest of medicines — Luden’s, Smith Bros., Hall’s, Hardly a saccharide shy of penny

by James Reidel “ . . . leaves: They will cure my hunger” Ch’en Tzu –lung The grass is dusted by frost and your bare feet grow

by Julie Rogers The sun, a coin flipping deep in a pocket of heat that won’t give. Newscast: governor’s gruff voice rations water, Sierra

by Julie Rogers Hen House for Sangye The mother is never done. Her hands work her heart, play dough shapes. The mold cuts her to size,

by Andy Clausen Back in the early nineties on the way to a poetry gig in Humboldt County my car went kaput And I wound up in a motel

by Neeli Cherkovski I keep wading in the mud of the Classic poets, they have a fine morbidity and a clean psychology trust in the epic that ends

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