The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Homogenicity

Civilization is but an ant hill,
strange floating confluence of bodies,
each as valuable as the tribal land
divided by the count of the horde.

What coefficient in my calculated risk
should I deem desirable enough to
step upon an icy raft but for the
greater good and the 72 virgins
of virtue and honor?

Are the dehumanized yet human?
We leave the same fossils but
we are not the same though
fossilized by expectations and
the infinite ether of ignorance.
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