an old writer and his words

  • SUNDAY NIGHT

    It is almost midnight.If this was Seoul, the Hilton,I could walk down the hillto Namdaeman Marketand wander around the shopsthe smell of the city, of pigs headssimmering in giant caldrons,fish lying on beds of melting iceand look at silk and stainlessflatware, watches and celendoncasting its faint green glowin the fluorescent night,but it is Virginia and…

    Lou Faber

  • SLEEPING

    In the Virginia countryside men have dug an enormous hole. Some say it is for the stone to pave their streets, build their homes. Some say it was dug out of spite. The young child looking out the window of the plane knows and simply says it is a burrow where all the stars and moon…

    Lou Faber