The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
The Zirconic

Pressing the strangeness of white powder
into gold bricks and spectral blades
letters crumble to crucible the
sulphorous ichor of the mystics who
paint garnets in thick creams of blue 
and the iridium dust of the riddled
worms well fed with clover and carnations
we spice our coffee with their castings
and chuckle at the cleverness of an irony
we never tire to tell or preach in tales
and gales of the magnanimous and magnificent
in the time-tested craft of the great
and powerful we bend emeralds into 
witch sticks and smile our incantations.
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