The Poetry of
Michael G. Khmelnitsky

I set out a cup of
black coffee as warning
to my digestive system

I write: there haven't been
any virgins since
nineteen sixty-nine

I say some nonsense to
paul as we drive fast past the
liberace museum

when I grow up i
want to be— and the
truck drowns it out


she likes it rough
narrative is toxic
remember to include

moans on alternating
audio channels
(I watch the bulge in

my pants carefully
adjusting for inflation
mohair suit and translucent

chickenskin; the top flat
she explains is russian birch
and the frame is yellow


poplar  while i think
I have owned both male
and female slaves

sanctum sanctorum
the whole woman is
suspended by strings!

grammatical eros
mutatis mutandis
a couple kissing on

a darkened balcon
& two boys  their hands
bent over the rail

of the overpass