The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Coriolis

At bay the bray of the hurricane
silent as the equatorial sun
dropping Moroccan mango dreams 
upon the flood of everglades
where the Lord wipes away 
the sins of conquistador love
with no-longer-clouded skies
over uncovered tar ball beach blossoms
and whalebone chapels that fail
to hale the drum beats of spice winds
with the rejoicing of dance 
circling around the ancestral bonfire 
under the same stars in counterturn
polarities shifting in the rustling
of whispers among the ebb of music
giving way to stories told unfolded
to bright-eyed children whose
shoes have washed away 
left to huddle warm grits
while dreaming of a buttercup day
and sipping momma's coffee 
when she looks away to weed
her garden of dreams layed down
to sleep and surrender for the
cribbed love of hearthglow and
her man circling her maydays with 
laurels and baconned offerings for
the privilege of an arrow's trajectory
and the hunt it impails with 
sublimated yearnings and the urge
to wander for a while in other
orbits, more Betelgeuse than Orion,
a neat scotch poured over moon rocks 
ends the well worked day.
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