The Poetry of
Michael G. Khmelnitsky

when horus becomes hours
i fancy myself a locomotive
  five stomachs
  two hearts

while kurds hurl rocks
i sun you
             i rain you

in the afternoon
we refine our tastes
we forgive each other
  my backwash of warm soda
  your undulating peristalsis

                   you feed her
she likes that

                          later
      she'll whisper
      all the answers
in your teeth

                   i must admit
i do so love to spoil the rod
spare the child