The Poetry of
Michael G. Khmelnitsky

Standing in nude, razor in hand,
Pablo bursts into room, shouting,
"Adam, I'm madam!"

Entretanto, el televisor
Zumbo. Outside, leaf falls with weight of leg.
Mine beard points theeward, as I recollect.

   Was I for first and fifth their first?
   'Tis true. I could not quench their thirst.

   Was I with third and second splendid?
   Quite so. I was their second, 'til it ended.

   Fourth one I shall not mention here.
   (There are, in all, no guarantees.)

My crow, he dances on one leg.
Train doors inform me to stand clear.
Sunray of Sabbath cuts my digit.

This dance, mysterious and dark,
Addresses he unswervingly to me.
It says, You'll never have to beg to be.