The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Lost and Foundering

Apologies settle like Cantor's dust
among the irreducibilities of teeth grinding and wailing
at the taunting of wind and the sound of electrons
falling silent as the basement waters rise,
even the furnace cannot help itself but explode
into a kaleidoscope of repairmen and bills
erasing carefully crafted Google schema
of our fireside chats sipping imagined Tokaj
my head in my hands, I rest my mind's eye
adrift and catatonic to the indiscretions of being.
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