By Luccian Layth Drink: Black Coffee I chose the café because something in me had failed to leave it. The street outside held a cold that did not insist. It settled instead — into fabric, into the narrow space between…

By George Oliver We met at the movies. At the pictures, as my grandpa says. At the cinema. At a cinema. Specifically: the BFI. The British Film Institute. Belvedere Road, South Bank, London, SE1 8XT.           We were at the…

By: Bruce Levine My internal clock is set at ManhattanI face the world with a jaded point of viewManhattanites are chauvinistic, snobbish, opinionatedAnd relentlessly focused Manhattan energy drives our universeLike the taxies forge the streetsIn a frontal assault Art, history…

By: J.K. Durick It’s Like That Our personal past hangs aroundAlways ready to reappear in Dreams, in recollections, in Whole scenes that are there Waiting to become again. I’m In a meeting with colleagues We’re talking, laughing about Some college…

By: Tah Asongwed That evening the arguments slowly ran out of breath. Not because the villagers had agreed. Villagers rarely agree in a single day. But the sun had slipped behind the hills, and darkness, like a patient elder, had…