The Poetry of
Michael G. Khmelnitsky

   gun behind belt
   my teeth like a
   puzzle fit

melt naval ports
ey bigguy
whadjew need

   i think
   she shells seashells
   while he shills seesaws

three shades of green
reflected in black
yellow  ultramarine

   I squeeze
   the unruly
   palms of trees

I buy undead flesh
in knots (what lasts
in my luggage rots