The Cafe Review

by David McCann Hours, it seemed, motorcycle riding through Korea’s countryside, first time I ever spoke Korean in a dream. “Going South. Know

by David McCann “So C me,” he’d call to Judge Moon As he tried once again to tune His Greene Stradivarius, A truly hilarious Knock-off by Bobby

by Michael Danahy I am a tree Of blood Rooted in skin. My brain Branches blood and nerve. Touch me: touch skin to skin. We will comb The birds

by Michael Danahy The Monongahela, that flammable river, for once threatened to prove its invisible light. The ghosts of sons of miners’

by Glenn Morazzini He kneels on a prayer rug of sand, in a crumpled kurta, hands tied behind his back, looking up at the lesser gods, his

by Glenn Morazzini According to chaos theory the world is in a state of dynamic flux where all things are inter–connected,

by Allen Fowler Mice thwart their teeth with what wood holds in the walls, answer to a boning itch, question to a witnessing ear. Poison has been

by Allen Fowler Pierce and ugly caw embroider an edge which parries wind as might love, so so softly that the whole moves as if through water.

by Allen Fowler Each day a question stumps us from the rich dark drama of night, what to eat mostly, what package to wear. Our constant doing

by Richard Taylor To whom am I to give these poems, polished, erased, smoothed again and fitted into murmured line, the limb and sinew of

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