The Poetry of
Michael G. Khmelnitsky

the amount of blemishes
depends on how deep I go in

working on your face
with the clone stamp tool
i feel like a medical examiner

gravity (or the way things hang
dictates how much I should rotate
crop  suck on the rule of thirds

the smooth face of the cute blonde
the textured face of the poet laureate

a magpie looks up  climbs
branch after branch pointedly
a bearded fat man

plays would you rather
with his kids
at the next table

I paint a diptych
in my living room