an old writer and his words

  • ELAPSED TIME

    Time measured outin a slow twistingof a fork, pitchedinto day’s heartbleeding heatas pulses fade.Tequila breezeblows acrossthe verandahpalms rustlingto rhythms of lifebodies snatchedcarried off, placesunseen, unimagined.Wings float upliftedher face in sleepserene, feline.Night’s morphine dripedges into sleepdreams of her touchcloses eyesto phoenix’s ascension. First published in The Berlin Literary Review, Issue 01, May 2023https://theberlinliteraryreview.com/issue-one/

    Lou Faber

  • MORNING

    In that momentwhen the gentle chirpingof a small birdresounds as a poundingspring deluge, washes awaythe creak and thrumof passing cars, when she singsonly to you, her small voicedrawn in to your ears, yourmind, until it fadesslowly like the belland you wait for itto strike again, to feelit seep down your spine,ooze into your fingersand toes,…

    Lou Faber

  • SOTTO VOCE

    For reasons I cannot determinethe cat sings to us each morningat 4 A.M. and why I am awaketo hear her songs is alsosomthing I cannot determine. She has a sweet voice andshe does know several tunesbut when I do get uptwo hours later, she refusesto tell me what the lyrics were. I suppose one morningat…

    Lou Faber