The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Unclenched

Perhaps our not-so-free will
which we fain to be 
unbridled and unenveloped 
able to walk dimensionalities
is but a gam dissected
upon a platter and prone to spasm
from a boyschool lemon battery
beyond the debating of anatomy
or capacity of networks to 
mirror in neuronal daguerreotypes
young de Sade pokes and prods
as we lay flayed and convulsing
as we dream of dancing engorged
and flexing our guns at the 
cosmic giants that ponder past
unaware of our fleaing and
fighting spirit, let at least
our mothers be proud at our
handsome sanguinity and the
vigor of our rapid faps.
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