an old writer and his words

  • BAGHDAD VILLANELLE

    We enter, the conquering heroes, drive quickly through the city’s core. We leave a crude division in our throes. We expected flowers, not blows of an angry mob, to be adored. We enter, the conquering heroes. An old man sits in a small café, he knows what will come of this, a festering sore. we…

    Lou Faber

  • CUBIC

    In the center of every city there ought to be a park, an expanse of green, trees older than the first European to arrive, so old they need not feign indifference to the humans who have invaded and refused to leave despite the mother (nature)’s request that they do so immediately. Some cities comply, but…

    Lou Faber