The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Watchtics

Baseball cards carefully gathered
into a set defined by the missing few
onto which the many somehow fail to map 
except in odd ratioed wagers that make heroes
collectible enough to admire and hope for
never too late to gather the lost sheep
for beauty smiles to meet you and 
even the banal once bloomed into amazement 
til our receptors could not endure the penetration
and we shed our childish peach fuzz for
duller armor and deeper savorings
salting our palate with the owl's night leavings
somehow our bones grew as small and brittle
though now we seldom feign to pinch that
dark fire that must be grasped from heaven
yanked down through the canopy in a meteoric fall
to smolder in our wet fleshy trappings
and remind us of the folly of our watchtocs
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