The Poetry of
Michael G. Khmelnitsky

there are languages
rattling inside my skull

phonemes and morphemes
sending vibratey feelings


transitioning from eh to see
my train runs its course

choo choo up the asshole
water damage on the ceiling


there is no sound
but the sound of sound

colour and sound
stain everything with light


when will you come
to rescue me

from my fascination
with the past perfect progressive