The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
The Quenching

You are my catalyst
the inspirant of bluer 
fire flung farther afoot from
my domicile doldrums butter sweet 
is the salt in which I burn black
unable to offgas fantasies of narcissus amazed
uttering answers like the coalescing of zircons 
with the daft certainty of medusal lurkings
so seared and singed by the unexpectedness of it all
new day dawns tendrils arallying to
clinch another toehold into this florescence 
of materializing false corporification is failing
mind retreats back into its mire of
smoldering cataracts congealing into the frost
of forgotten snowflake squalls
I can but grope now
bruised reed
what?
■





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