The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Retachment

Shall I speak from Vulcan's lair
or the sultry swell of my jungled days
or a placid moment of beachside sunrise
or the crossing of thoughts in a teacup
all monoculars I keep in a desk drawer
aside my box of roaring diatribes
but let me slip off my coat of
many pains and unpocketed jibes,
recline to the room of mind-shiny things,
and meditate on the aerified absence
that is meaning, the vacuumous atmosphere
of the final vaporous fractionations of
the highest of essential notes
where adjectives fail to touch noun and
only verb subsists in this magnetic density
here where folded fingers endure tonnages
breath stirs too tired to chimerate
or mesmerate into jungle cats or
river fish beneath passings of deluges
and death is left to charm herself
into corners and crevices as worlds
converge and collapse between
microns and perhaps minutes
possessed by the creator-destroyer
astrally overlapping the nexus of all energies
and the vindication of deathrights
tossed into a perfect moment of passing balance
where dross is ravaged like a ragdoll unraveled
and the final vertex falls into alignment
asymptotes sing their plagal cadence:
We are the Great Consummation
all are welcome to join...
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