The Poetry of
Michael G. Khmelnitsky

behold the man!

how he dances
on the head of a pin
   how he spins

   transfixed by hatred and fear
   how he comes and goes
in deliberate throes

how he quietly sneers
how he's wildly sincere

now he elides his own alteration
now he's quietly flying

   now he sits down in desperate frustration
   now he gets up in triumph

season's cretins!  shoes & art
a dime short of three fifty

   he's a marker of all plastic parts
   he's unknown to all autumn boredom

he takes in all the sounds
his apartment coming to life

   water
            gas
                  thermostat

he performs his postmodern postmortems

   he's surrounded by fakers and liars
   sniffing always at each other's butts

   he's a desperate despot looking for queens
   to crown and caress with much glee

when—look!  past run (better than prostitutes!
these mothers  they fuck for free!

but no  he has much bigger fish on his dish
so to the low flying shoulder's wink sprite

   he whispers  quite careful and low

   there's no place like the night
   there's no place like the night
      there is no place like the night