The Poetry of
Michael G. Khmelnitsky

This poem was originally typeset in uppercase.

HERE
   I SIT
AND IF I
DON'T
   THEN IT
   STILL DOESN'T
MATTER

ALL THE LIGHT
THE WORK
   THE THOUGHT
   OF THE END
THE THOUGHT
OF THE LATTER

   HERE I WEEP
   WITH DRY
TEARS
AND THE AIR
   IN MY HEAD
   MAKES IT
HARDER TO
BREATHE
   MAKES ME
   WOEFUL
INSTEAD

   FOR I'M
WASTING
MY TIME
   DAWDLING
   WADING
IN THOUGHT
   WHAT
   BEFORE
COULD BE MINE
FOCUSED NOW
   TO A DOT

TO A PERIOD
   ON A PAGE
   TO BE TYPED
TO BE PLACED
TO BE SWIFTLY
   DE-BODIED
   TO BE
SKINNED AND
DEFACED
   STRETCHED
   ALL TAUT
ON THE WIREFRAME
OF TIME

   THEN
   DISSECTED
BY LOVED ONES
BY FRIENDS
   BY THE WORLD
   WHILE YOU
ARE

   THERE'S
THE RUB
YOU'RE NO MORE
AND THE SKY
COULD
   BURN
   TARNISH
AND THE SUN
COULD SUFFOCATE
   IN SPACE

BUT SOME
FORCE
   OR SOME
   FATE
HAD ME
BOUND TO
   THIS THOUGHT
   TO MY KNOWLEDGE
MY FEAR
TO MY PLACE

   THERE ARE
   NO WORDS
AND NO MEANING
   AS I SLOWLY
SIT
   WAITING
FOR EVENTUAL
   SILENT
   SLOWING
OF BREATH

   FOR ALL
IT'S
WORTH

   FOR ALL
FLESH