gershon hepner Poems

Will the afterlife be any less
exasperating to us than the one
we have? Unless they give us an address,
how will we find a place to have some fun
...

When I am feeling somewhat lazier
than poets tend to be I string
together verses, a fantasia
that beckons like the fantom ring
...

Believing we’re a bridge to Superman
we focus on our body, while our soul
lies stranded on the side where we began
to cross before we gave up on our goal.
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People who’re of every origin
come to LA, where they flow
haphazardly, not fitting in
too well with all the others though
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When rawness is attenuated
by means of self-control and nuance,
truth, being unexaggerated,
is trusted by the troubled truants
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I wander lonely as a shroud,
and, unmiraculous, my face
makes no impression on the crowd
because it lacks all signs of grace,
...

Wordsworth wrote while walking over gravel,
in straight lines that prevented interruptions,
despite the fact his spirit used to travel
towards the recollection of eruptions
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Princess Di, the saint of kitsch,
public dirty-washing rinser,
seemingly has found her niche,
threatening the House of Windsor,
...

The death she died was meretricious,
while seated in a limo.
She looked delightful and delicious,
but really was a bimbo
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She lived by publicity, died when she tried
to evade the photographers’ cameras;
narcissistic princesses aren’t able to hide
when amorous, if they are glamorous.
...