The Cafe Review

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.

by Tim Suermondt To put it in poetic language: it’s raining Brahmins and sharks — and lately my spirit and my body have been working in tandem,

by Tim Suermondt Gray and blue and beautiful, the night of perfect possibilities is here. The man wipes his shoes for some last minute spit and

by Tim Suermondt The charming couple will split over bad sex and incompatible philosophy — the long tracking shots and extreme close–ups

by Philip Dacey Knife, banana, bowl — props for the theater our father staged each day as he gave voice to slice after slice: “I am the Emperor,

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