The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Equidistant

Of all the untenable forces upon my brow
as intractable as they are intemporal
I find myself in the middle of
indecipherable gravities and monstrous eddies
the rotations of ant-crushing arms and
scars of radiations I cannot begin to see
scorching my path in conflagrations
it is but a humble amount of coagulated blood
pushing against your white-mattered treasures
that distort my tethered mind into tortured
turnings scraping my way up from the bottom
of this cistern we once called home as
all the onioning layers wilt into husks
and blossom with mushrooms as the wheel
grinds on unyielding to the bargaining of 
desires and thoughts like fingers drop 
like so many mangled amputations 
that eventually cease to grasp 
the simplicity of it all 
for the next step is never
too far to limp on
and somehow every turn
is the same.
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