an old writer and his words

  • THE WRITER STUMBLES

    Each yearin Pamplonathe bulls begintheir slow descentdown the narrow streetsgaining speednostrils flaringmuscle and sinews tautthey forge aheada white wavepreceding themin their mad dashand each yearthere is one,some years twowho, by slip of footor lapse of judgmentmeet the hornsof the lead bullwho in disgustsnorts“this oneis noHemingway.” First published in Defenestration ,Vol XVI Issue 2 August 2019

    Lou Faber

  • A BUFFALO PASSES 無門關 三十八

    Staring out, watch the bullwalk slowly pastalong the old road.Marvel at his horns,the flare of his nostrilsin his massive head,his breath hangingin the early morning chill. Mark each leg, itsmuscles rippling, as it passes.You feel you know the beastbut only if you close your eyescan you grasp its tail. A reflection on Case 38 of…

    Lou Faber

  • ON ARRIVAL

    This morning arrivedwith a painful slowness, the slothof irregular dreams refusing to concedeto the light struggling to creep aroundthe blinds that hide the oversize windows. It had been that sort of night,sleep arriving and departing witha frustrating lack of constancy, my bodyuncertain of its proper placement ,the mattress offering no easy solutions. Conceding the failure…

    Lou Faber