an old writer and his words

  • ALBLANY THURSDAY NIGHT

    It is a cheap moteljust off the highway,across from the mallnow almost empty of cars,a room not much biggerthan a bed, a desk anda small nightstand.The diet cola is sweatingdespite the breezeof the air conditioner,the television flickers.I have left a wake up callhoping I arise beforethe jangle of the phone,knowing I will not.Corso lies on…

    Lou Faber

  • AFTERLIFE

    In the farthest reachesof the afterlife, the old mengather each day, althoughday and night are meaninglessto them, just assignedfor purposes of the writer. The Buddha recites sutrashoping the others willbe in the moment with him,while Hillel smiles, standson one foot and dreamsof a lean pastrami on ryewith a slice of half sour. Christ muses on…

    Lou Faber

  • BUDDHA AND HILLEL DINE TOGETHER

    The meeting occurred by chance,two old men sitting in the same parkstaring at the same empty chess boardas the waves of the Stygian Sealapped against the break wall,the ferryman now at the helmof the great cargo ship.“So,” said Hillel, “you come here often?”Old, bent Buddha paused“as far as I know, I havealways been here, or…

    Lou Faber