The Cafe Review

by John Blair Too much furniture, too many pens. Too many monks cribbing nickels, and sleeping in parks. Kenko in his idleness squats in the

by Wang Ping The ones in the brain that allow us to make decisions, not just about what to order for lunch, but about basic perceptions — making

by Wang Ping We surrender Even if we don’t know how No thought No thunder No flight from hope to despair No silence No sorrow Time folds and

by Craig Evenson will hold, for life in general, the way an appended amen suspends a second thought, but won’t explain how it moves in oceans

by Leonore Hildebrandt I worry about gutters, the washed–out road, corroded pipes. And squirrels — they are everywhere — on edge, just like

by Didi Jackson Your husband was a city in a country of sorrow. You wanted a door, you climbed a wall instead. As some trees stay green all year,

by Major Jackson After avocado–colored inclines, after dawdling ascents over fern & foliage, after long trillium gazes and careful

by Major Jackson Five gold wash crystal pearls on a wrist. Her seraph–skin glistening when a spigot is turned off in the apartment next

by G. H. Smith What was it, muse, you so desperately wanted me to say? You tried everything to no avail. Even now steeped in well–earned

by G. H. Smith The time has come to put away childish things. You laugh, but when were we ever punctual? Look, the ferry is engaged in foreplay

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