The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Adlithoration

It was the hummingbird hearted 
tired of the slow scythe of seasons
who dreamed of an everspring,
an admiration of the enduring stone
celebrated by uprighting stelae  
and painting ecstatic grimaces in
sacred resins, the afterecho of 
the decay of softer limbs long loved,
lithatars who survive our waking
to lift us above the clouds or 
at least outlive our dynasties,
polished into a horror movie rush
doled out by proto-Levites who
grew tithe-fattened from the fearful
gathering up garnered gemstones 
so fallen fathers may speak again,
though these days we may carry our
talismen on our ring fingers, 
our days will never blink in the
deep drumbeat of diamond crystals;
we are but a tribal rainstorm
incomprehensible shift of weather
thundering the hummingbird hearted
■





©2024 Mark Daniel Milbocker  All rights reserved.