The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
The Joy of Oscillations

The pointedness of primitive-perception-regression
awash in self-referential wavelets 
orbits in spirographic oscillations
that trace an ebullient immobility
caught in the taffy-making of the temporal
pencils hewn into the inappropriateness of fern-sway 
in the doppelganger's fractured embrace
the beast with two backs circumspectly howls
and lets loose the bourbon-tinted shards
of another tragic impact left to be numbered
by the minstrel's microscope upon the altar

Leave me to my unwinding, for I am a top aspin
a dervish of dizziness who arm wrestles
polarity into a nexus of the rain-bound
swollenly organic as a whispered breeze
I wipe my brow in the extrospective fabric
unfated by the consternations of constellations
my lute-plucked-heart sweetly evaporates
into the soul music blues of ultraviolet hues;
the only madness on the prowl are those whose
steel-gripped-minds perseverate in the still
and refuse to resonate with Gaia's growl.
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