The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
The True Color of Art

In the artist's morgue, the beloved
are lined up for the furnace
mountains of shards to be 
rendered into the kaolin 
for creativity's canvas
blended over the ardency of expressing
with agars of agarwood and myrrh
the ruddiness and musk of our
mental excretions and the ponderance
of pus gushes, spattering chromatic webs
of crystalline dances where
light warms the wellspring of Music spasms
caught in the chant of the Dervish
we are hasheaters of the Malic orb
fire stolen into quasar ejaculations
of intent and the refractories 
of intentionalities polished into
the lazuli illuminations of 
gifted manuscripts hidden under
time's soot and the albumen we
call varnish.
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