The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Insanitized

In the waterwork-weave of 
the terrestrial turning,
my beaten breath withers,
as over-ripened squash burst
their seed-laden entrails
perfuming the rigor of mortis
and the decay of once
strong forces and entanglements
that pass away and beyond
until this moment of inertia
reverses to a gentler spin.
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