The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Consecration

We are all baptised in beginnings
sent to the parochial gristmill
and fed soylent crackers with grape juice
raised by the uncle arms of celibates
who seek adoration or at least subjugation
hiding their ulcers beneath chasubles
trading their heartwork into mesmerations
unannointed we await their charity
as we are told what we are missing
though it is in foxholes that
souls are set apart from the mundane
raised to a higher purpose and set
off into the incomprehensible to barter
for mercy and favor from the powerful
sacrificing their own children
so that we may all crown kings.
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