The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Self-flagellation

In the verdant panoply of Eden day
ablush in rosy-hued cheeks at play
a sole serpent bite bleeds forever blue
though bathed in the sulphur river
still an unwavering hue paints my lips
split in violet spittle as explanations
drizzle the landscape in black shrouds
and my mate clutchs her melanated apples 
I struggle to make cinnamon of my mace
or at least rue to draw out the ichor 
of my dark plasma fallen into dreaming
an idyllic spread as castiron gates choke
my wandering quavers into a determination
to escape into the cellar to purloin
a more astringent brew, the alchemy of
the unparented germplasm, strange 
mercurial flow of the newly ensouled.
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