The Poetry of
Michael G. Khmelnitsky

i cannot sleep

after three hundred three hundred
six hundred millilitres of black
coffee
everything is brighter
turned up not intolerably

ALL LIES! in yellow chalk on late eighties
no
early nineties perhaps
makes me notice the stylish
concrete the zinc paneling across the forest floor

i walk around
my own wind
up toy
and in my transparent graphically accelerated dreams
i kill: higher faster stranger

radicalism dies with mortgages
and through the premeditated
pomegranate
i devour the white light refracted
off the flesh of young boys

Allen it did not stop
i suddenly realised as i carried a black ink
stain
in my pants' pocket to college this morning
and maybe i'll keep it there for a while

emptying virtual trashcans i saw you in a video once
i look at the fool moon over my
shoulder
and i see the howl still goes on now too
but you are not with Carl at Rockland anymore

now that the best minds
of all generations were
destroyed by
madness
i see the howl still

brown loafers
clean ironed blue
  not baby
  not navy
styled hair
slacks
  not green
  not grey
brown belt
  metal buckle
holes to let in the water
white socks
and black shoelaces to
hang yourself with

revolution quietly passes
away
inside my head
no if it feels good
don't do it yet

the thin shield of polite society
and weather people
  white buttons
  wireframe glasses
  micropolitical
do not spontane here

we have the ability to detect brand
names
in mid flight
wishstanding we snatch them
from the air
  nexTEL
  hewLETt
  micro
  intel
in in in
next next next

an antechamber to creation
the aggregate of expiring ideas
in the hippocracy of cobwebs
elephant skin and a pink bow
we are the second candour

and yet
i am here
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later means never
rowing machine time
machine
masturbation machine
version twenty two

here i am
an unexploded diagram of shortening
lines
pocket philosopher
in my iamness

die-a-gram:
hey
I do not have the luxury of
coitus interruptus from the capital K
but my paperclip
folded out like a shiv in my shoe
thinks otherwise

there is not enough ink for me
on my fingers shooting stars
touch
Cappelbaum shouts
THERE'S A MISTAKE IN THE LAYOUT

hey god!
stop leaking my pens
all i want is to show Allen
the world has become a
convenience

over words i cannot make up because they already exist
a row of words
frequently arsed questions
sorted complete
(used)

keys of the week attached to pants of the meek
nightwave
where falling objects
recall inverse
the rate of their descent

alienation in nonparticipation
alienation in participation
i will eat you all
ejaculate you on dry flat green seaweed
you lie
the terrible license of the dictionary is so rare
that they've had to fly it in from somewhere exotic
isosceles
poetry challenge to myself
soon any day will die the last
man who remembered the last war

and when you run out of ideas
that you own as much as a thing is your own
you check the mail
you check your horoscope
and in the evening you see a movie full of special effects