gershon hepner Poems

More like a massacre than battle,
old age is when they lead us off
not in a cattle-car like cattle
to slaughter-houses beyond Bahnhof,
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Pretension, balancing banality with self-
effacement leads to phoniness,
and although Holden Caulfield is not on the shelf,
his author lives in loneliness,
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Slight slowing of the world’s rotation
requires, top chronologists have reckoned,
slight horological inflation
of New Year, to which they will add a second.
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While Allen Ginsberg told us “Howl! ”
I do prefer Clint Eastwood’s growl,
while cherishing his Gran Torino,
spaghetti westernized the fino
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In the tunnels some debunk
brave New Yorkers who spelunk
into subways, where they funnel
through a station and a tunnel,
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You should not think it a disgrace
when girls don’t wear, while they’re in space
the underwear that they’re expected
to wear on earth. I’ve not inspected
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If today weren’t bright and sunny
would the sky be blue?
If my life was not so funny
would it still be true?
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He wrote a role in Misfits for her,
but when the movie ended they
drove off in different cars. The play
had ended. He’d begun to bore her.
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A woman has orgasms just with her ears,
according to Fabrice Luchini;
for Wanda of fish fame a climax appears
when hearing Italian, “Linguine! ”
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Nobody has ever managed to annex
a single letter in the way that Kafka did.
As Joseph K. (“The Trial”) and K. (“The Castle”) , specs
provided by his name conceal that he’s a Yid,
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