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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