The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
The Veteran Virtuoso

A violin whose strings hang loose
once flittering notes bloomed
now overgrown into cello vines of
subliminal echoes stirring 
the less jaded silverback's heart
its lac sunset to a ruby port
though once gilded in the amberesque
taut wood no longer creaks
but moans of the viceral with a
primal pendulation, dark timbre of 
the lost and unjust, long after
the virgin flush of excuses have fallen
twisting pegs turnt in on themselves 
rustle fingerboard-grown fur
tangled into a bearded impression
waiting to be lifted into the air
as if to a play a jig amongst laughter
though long lain in coffin swaddle
the unseen bow scintillates in rosin flakes
and imagines a new moon's glow.
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