The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Welter Skelter

Myself and not myself
mask mask mask mask mask
a webbed oscillation 
shivers running between corners
shooting up branches into
my spiderhearted soul
terrified by the last tremors 
of the thoracic 
never before so unconstrained
by the shine of conventions
beating down upon my swarthiness
saliently soiled in soots and
desolations, I stagger my final
throes with withering cries skyward
beckoning for a quick burial 
and just enough dignity to 
cover the cringe of my excoriation
as I pick at the coffin lid
and wonder what the hammerfalls
are forging from my exhausted
corpse glimmering in the 
mind's mirror of Allmother 
strange fluorescence green-yellows
the night in cosmic freckles
bewildering the fireflies
if not the reaper's welter.
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