The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Garden of the Midday

Toe wriggling into the cleft
Ballerini crumpling, I slip beneath
Smiles bursting onto halls of mirrors
Pungent reverie floods the hot box
Eyes weightlessly hover, three now four
or more descend the criss cross of shadows
the diaphanous flossy flow 
pellucid to us dancing gnostics.
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©2023 Mark Daniel Milbocker  All rights reserved.