gershon hepner Poems

However ugly life appears
to be it’s good: so wrote Isaiah
Berlin to mollify the fears
of his dear mother. Sons are liars.
...

If could live my life anew––
Borgès fantasized he might––
my life would be a déjà vu
of all the things I’d not got right
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In Hindu myth beheading,
says Doniger, is seldom fatal,
comparable to bedding
a gal who won’t need a pre-natal.
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When a fund that is a feeder
turns into a money bleeder
investors who’ve been badly scammed,
if not yet flat-line cardiogrammed,
...

Ford Motor Company asked Marianne Moore
to think up names for their brand new cars.
Agreeing to be automobile whore,
she couldn’t give them branded jaguars,
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It’s not the smoothness of the stone
the sculptor hopes that you will feel,
but fire in its flesh and bone
concealed by smoothness like a peel.
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If Sarah Palin looked like Golda,
older and Alaska-colder,
would she be warming cockles
of our hearts in her debacles?
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Long looking, like slow cooking, should
become the vogue, replacing speedy glances
with which we tend to focus on the wood
instead of trees, though every one enhances
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Cognitive dissidents,
fueled by the citizens
of the former fertile crescent,
sharing opinions
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Only with a sense of play
can we interpret our own universe,
ignoring rules that make our lives perverse.
A catalogue unraisonné,
...