The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Eden lost

It was a good...
lost golden goals
gaygoyles of omen and
prognostication,
my prophet voice spent 
into raspiness and rancor
I spoke
I stepped up on soapbox and
drew the sword from the...
I poetted and posied
played your little..
but balance betrays us
and night will always fall.
True, it is sweet in
its gentle carresses
tending to take us elsewhere.
true, it is sour in
having outlived its time
and boundaries, belched out
the untoned and atrophied
decays and with a
whink, ascents into 
the
ground.
■





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