an old writer and his words

  • JUST IMAGINE FOR A MOMENT

    Imagine that they could see youbehind the velvet ropes, staringat them slack-jawed, at the opulenceand the excess that was ancient Egypt.We stare at the sarcophagi, at the goldthrone chair and jewel encrusted gods,imagining ourselves able to affordluxury on that remarkable scale,we more the slaves out of sightbreaking our backs to build the tombsthat would someday…

    Lou Faber

  • CASSIE

    I looked for you last nightwhen the cloud slowly peeled backand the moon reluctantly went dark.Despite my presbyopia I foundyour throne lying in view, emptyand you nowhere to be seen, evenPersius said he never saw you leave.I truly miss you, Cassie and hopeyou will soon return for the starsare diminished by your absence.

    Lou Faber

  • CASSANDRA IN FLORIDA

    She is large, and largely immobileand occupies the bench by the roadthat encircles the property like a noose. She does this each day, a crustor more of stale bread tucked awayin a pocket of her always floral housedress that envelopes herand the bench she occupiesas a monarch on her throne. The ibis see her coming…

    Lou Faber

  • ETHEREAL

    She appeared without notice,not there, then there, shehalf angel, half siren, half mad. She appeared like Casseopaiea’sfaint shadow taking form,stepping out of the sudden fog. She was nymphlike, sylphan,demanding attention, cravingthe eyes of all who passed. No one spoke to her, whetherout of fear or disinterest and shegrew angry, larger still, until the full moon…

    Lou Faber

  • THE BARD OF BROOKLYN?

    If he were to appear here suddenlyI suspect Shakespeare wouldbe running a small theater groupin Brooklyn catering to an audiencedrawn mostly from the LGBTQcommunity, alternating productionsof gays and lesbians with Transand gender fluid having free choiceto reflect their true selves and notin the roles genetics cast them. If you asked him why, he’d saythat it…

    Lou Faber

  • CASSIOPEIA

    You sit on your self-made throneand stare at the night skyas clouds gatherand dissipate beneath you.Do you even recallwhy you were cast out,condemned to your cell so vastyet infinitely confining?Does your body rememberthe touch of his handthe crude hunterwho set you aflamewith a white heatthat paled the sun of summer?What do you imagineas tongues of…

    Lou Faber