The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Naked Nadir

Where have all the finches gone?
like a silver-line passing over,
santa is a hawk-flying eclipse,
pivot of the village spears in unison
to protect the children from lepers
who hide under the cozy with sour breath
brother grinchs uninvited from the 
turkey table like ungrateful savages
naked they cast shadows across the
anisette-panettoned spread giving
the clockwork a deeper chime to bring
flashbacks of unkindnesses unrequited
reflected in midnight moose tears
that baptise the innocent pillow with
a more sanguine stain left from
the endless shivering of long
nectarless nights of the hummingbird 
hearted born to sip at a cosmos
well-lit in sacred animations.
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