gershon hepner Poems

I was in whirlwind and thinking of girls
and batons that high in the air each one whirls,
but now I think only of you, for you’re movin’
my body in ways of which we’re both approvin’.
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We're entering the dawn of what some call,
erroneously, a great new error,
confusing as malapropism all
deniers of the reign of terror
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The circle, inexhaustible, precise,
is unconditionally stable,
and, reproduced, becomes exactly twice
itself, which men who try to do aren’t able.
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Words can be blunt and instructive,
but frequently they are destructive.
Far better perhaps to be Trappist
than savagely, hip-hoppy rappist,
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Sweetening the bribes she proffers,
Medb offers friendship of the thighs,
allowing men to fill her coffers
like a champion bull. She tries
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ITransposing and retitling and rewriting
are all prerogatives of editors
who spend a lot of energy indicting
their writers, for they are competitors
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Sumo rings are no-go places
for women who love men who’re fat,
regarding thin men as disgraces.
If I, too, were a big fat cat,
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Do not go gentile into that good night.
One Dylan almost said this, hardly gentle,
when raging against darkness with a fight
that often now involves experimental
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The word and rod are both a part
of power, soft but also hard,
together they are very smart,
each one the other’s guard.
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There’s more than one way to perform
Bach’s St. Matthew Passion,
there’s no right way, or even norm,
for style resembles fashion,
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