The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Hermetic Song

Warm and flushing is the
fire round which 
we dick fiddlingly carve
mother totems and dream.

But what of brother sun
head banging in the corner
sworn off the chisel and wank
lost in night blushings?

Does his ochre not stain;
puddles of cave shadows 
gilded with scarlet relief
unfounding the claims of
talented connivings who
steal in the day by 
the artifice of finery and
dogmastic annointings

He chews the bitter cud
Peers into the ark of the apostate
and spins yet another dervish
spilling our abacus beads.
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