an old writer and his words

  • HARD TIME

    I was only in jail once,then for four hours, no chargesand my biggest fear was thatmy parents would find out,or the cops would determinethat I was only 17 and breakingthe park curfew was noteven a misdemeanor. They let me go, gave mea ride back to the park,told me not to go in butI wouldn’t at…

    Lou Faber

  • HEAVEN, UTAH

    We would sit around the small parkas evening made a hasty retreatto somewhere, anywhere more livelythan Salt Lake City in the heart of summer. We’d pass a jug of whatever wascheapest at the state package store,usuall Gallo this or that, and roll jointswhich made their way around our circle. The cops would drive by every…

    Lou Faber

  • AROMA

    What I want, no, need actually,is to remember the smells of youth.The images I can recall, but they areaged pictures, run repeatedly throughthe Photoshop of memory, andcannot be trusted only desired. The old, half ready to fall oak,in the Salt Lake City park hada faint pungency that lingeredeven as I departed my body asthe acid…

    Lou Faber

  • THE GROVE

    She walks slowly, the streets she once knew well, so much changed by time and memory released into the fog. It is hard going back when back is no longer there, where the store you owned, a place where you spent countless hours is now a sandwich shop, and so many others gone altogether for…

    Lou Faber