Poems
by R. Gerry Fabian

 

 

Torment In the Desert

 

Disoriented, an altar lover

without plenary indulgence

spills forth her chalice love

in a confessional tone.

 

Her stain glass soul sins

require moral penitentiary penance.  

However, her confessor besieged

by motion picture cinema images

understands beyond her mumbles

with forgiveness that is his menace

and her surprise.

 

 

 

 

 

Working Seven Days A Week In Order 

To Afford A Two Story Brownstone Just

Inside The City Limits With A View Of The Park

 

7:34 pm.

The end of another long day.

The distance has been widening.

 

Opening the door

there are no cooking smells

and all your things are gone.

There is just missing and emptiness.

The dream explodes

like an unexpected gust

leaving cinders in my eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

Form And Function

 

A matter of style

comes between

the naked truth.

The lost

seem so absurd

as they grasp

at each smoke wisp

as to longingly leave

their admirers

a season or more behind;

while the lonely

catch the department

pseudo flash glitz

which becomes the norm

until

the discount can imitate

to such an enormous degree

as to signal the eventual

elimination

at which point, it becomes

a matter of style.

 

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