The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
The Unseen Apple Yet Rots

Beauty is a construct
an ore, a vein beneath our awareness
we must uncover and smelt into a brazen bull
cast in our own image to end the tragedy
of solitude, the plucked fire of longing
for what is a thing if ever only potential
a tearless comedy no less dramatic than
a regicidal dirge, yet the gravid still
celebrate in their overflowing gloat
of sated fulfillment
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