The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker
The Untangling

Grasp the handle close
warmth blooms into a nebulous aroma
as we recalibrate our proprioceptive grounding
and life stills to ten frames per second,
our hackles descend the dilation of our aperture
as we release the daily slice of shoulds
and butter our crumpet with blackberry spice
from last year's harvest amidst the summer rains
attention drifts like a spasming iris in bloom
only to settle upon the tentative hope
of a sudden resonance, flood of ecstatic connection
lost in an entanglement of intuitions that
today will be a good day.
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