The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Tocking

Do you hear the drums beating?
or the tick of the cuckoo maker
clocking moments in
heartbeats or breaths until
the Antiquarian chimes
and we slurp our milk in unison
lest we dream fierce and brutal tales
and husk off our outer peelings
for the delights of the fleeting tempest
for are we not stirred
by the leprosy of attrition
ulcered tics of gentle fascination
tender hug and warm kiss
trickles down the back of our spine
as eyes roll and brow heaves
and we gasp to inhale this moment.
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