The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Beneath Bivalves

Far beneath clove-studded orange slices
dangling like skeletons on strings,
happy clams savor the churn of a 
nor'easter passing like reindeer overhead
amid waters that quickly settle to 
an icy stillness so pristine, one can
hear neutrinos falling softly between
the blink of lighthouse synchonicities
untempted by the spin of sardonic mistresses
selling their echoing fates to passing sharks

here the nacred eye tastes a diffusive brew
suckling drifts of newly fallen marine snow
husks carried on majestic currents of mortality
swallowed with a pause and reassembled into
a spastic kaleidoscope of peculiar proteins
and karmic hormones to signal a deeper 
rectitude and flush of animation amid
the precarious frigidity that stretches out
our temporal bleed into the everbrine 
nuzzled between the groan of cosmic techtonics
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