The Poetry of
Michael G. Khmelnitsky

biting the hand
that will shake
the hand that

feeds me
i wonder
how the description

fits  how the
facets match
turning and

turning in the
light  refracting
this way

and that  reflecting
light & lie
beautifully

how much bananas
how is chinaski
these days

rolling in his
grave  biting
the sand

and the dogs  and
the sunset  and
despotism

starting somewhere
off  and in
the middle

wishing
for a better
life

but still cringing
under the weight
of the purchase

I bite
bite
bite the hand