The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Sanctity

To call sacred is to feign 
the pulling apart of our pulpy weft 
To baptize our hands from the
grime and sparkling grit of our arterial exudations
To perfume away our musk and so incense our
senses of self and the homeostasis of the spheres
whose music descends to a droning siren
pulsing with genuflections and arcane compulsions
to sift away our matter into the alluring light
mortifying our eructations to feed the conceits
of those who perseverate the prescribed immolations
daring to bother conjured titans for their blessing
revealing how shriveling is their childish insight 
for anyone who seriously traces the outline of their being 
finds so little in between the lines
just the fading glimmer of the sparkle of star dust 
scintillating with shared symmetries and that
wink of the unfathomable trillion of our progenation
the once infinitesimal seedling twisting the 
universal legacy into the newly hewn.
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