The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Asperger Stew

What name shall I call myself?
what magic invisible words 
are scribbled beneath my tombstone?

He loved the men,
the pointier the better
golden star upon my forehead.

He was a smart one
I betcha, by golly-
Also sprach Zarathustra.

Wordy this one or
pitchy, he plays with
different colors, tastes your words.

Afraid to pick up
the phone or leave the house
as skittish as he is a chameleon.

Prone to melancholia
Hobbled in his joints
Deaf to normalcy, nay morality!

No gods lend their rosy hue
No heroes brace his steps
No legacy waits for his demise.

Fatherless 
yet still tied by his umbilicus
Friendless
yet forever in love.

Break all the mirrors!
in my kingdom, for I have been
blind from birth, yet forever gazing
upon the dance of the ultraviolet.
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