The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Ignition

Extract the rod[1]
and spoil the religion
boil over the power of
the insecure warriors who too
seriously impale their own, 
no, excoriate the vice and
virtuously fearful from
your cherenkov-encrusted crucible
and let be magnetised the flux.

Pluck the clouds from
the uncomfortable confrontation[2]
eyeballs pealing in the night
wanting for sleep, they search
beneath the bed for innocence pristine
while the dense nocturnal forestry
awaits your arrival under the humus
blanket where vulcan's heavy hurls chime
to stoke the furnace of ungoverned grime.
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