The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Falling into Heaven

I stand at the gateway of a blossoming galaxy
drawn to the warm wormwhole of possibilities
an elliptical circus of flaming hooped orbits
athrust by stolen soapbox aspirations and
that quaint charm of the doody-driven child
ready to pass and unusually eager to qualify
wandering past the pedestalled prophets unaware 
that passion's burn offends the accolades of Olympus
trading virtue for the vertue of a new leaf
to synthesize from an oranger sun those 
purple-hued shadows of vaulting blueprints
that reveal backdoor perceptions of uncanonical
critters flourishing in such sultry heat
in great overgrown abominations to our pygmy-eyed
desire to be beatified by borders when we
are called to a higher orbit to cavitate the
jetstream in startrails of our being consumed.
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