The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Pleochromic

Your hand offers no shake
but covers my cliff-clenched grasping 
for a certainty betrayed by the 
peacock-preaned-pisseur of life 
not both-and but all-and, the clarity
of growing past three-year-old declarations
hiding between the bluing of red's greenness
of these plasticoated parts so primary 
to our cortical weave that quartz-sparkles
and knows not of headcheese conglomerations
kintsugi-patched golden masks with lazuli eyes
narrating a through-the-door adventure,
the flush of the master's automatons in
perfect concert dancing with utter inanity!
how it tickles behind the ear with whispers
of the suggestive directive to unleash
the dreamed in an orgy of the sanitized
compliance with norms that offend only
the vestigially blinded who grope
everyone entering the cave for weapons
of mass enlightenment that quake our
bamboo-scaffolded conceptions of our
awakening atavisms that utter anaglyphic
smears we can't quite bring into focus 
though their shimmer delights so deeply
silken fabric of our ancestors darned
into an animated appliqué though
our toes remain unsheathed and unshodded
the better to commingle with grassroots
so we may speak in mulatto tones.
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