The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Plurality

We are a system
We, the three brothers 
prophet, mage, platonic spelunker
our eye rests upon fire
oceans, my radiating sclera
sudden and scalding of vim
tensioned by prophet casting shadows
mage mastering the physics of pyretics
and the golem adventurer who
slips between the shadows of the day-mind

I milk truth's wraith
mix my sanguine ichors
scratch runic circumscriptions
around truth's evanescent prolapses
only to be reabsorbed to the
naked lattice, the raw spheres
to forge an alloy lighter, 
stronger yet no longer brittle,
lush with Escherian yet damascene folds

Beliefs are the habits we wear, 
the dogmatic drab, garbed and garbled,
daggered by our solemnly sincere intentionality
donning the heraldric banner of
under-what-circumstances as we
pretend in politenesses and 
itch of our cloying naivete
drawing intricacies like little kisses
before pulling your perceptual ballsack tight

Truth is a constellation, a plurality
of eidetic atoms fondled into their orbitals
by the underpinning of my desires
King under the Mountain of 
models of chaotic entanglements 
and ejaculations of Charonic stories
the vision fire sparks from my verbal spittle
and the earthquake of cannons fired
to conquer quarks like skulls 
and still the breath then the heartbeat
as time's vibrations are soothed
and we rise back to Middle Earth.
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