The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Purlescent

Do you hear the gurgle
of the underpassages that run 
beneath, in the endless caves
long sacred termite channels 
the purl purly porla plunk
that sprays our face with giggled
innocence our eyelashes bright 
with the mild embarrassment of 
innocently trusting the pattern
instead of the glance of the graffiti
eyed, swarthy with shadows of
the desert sun impaled by the butte
of the obtuse and long suffered
imprint of silence aloneily transgressed
until the clear waters blubber with babble 
and fizz with crab-eye burbling
cursed with puns and foxy-tailed feather
tickled words teasing unsneezed jests
and jolts, the unbolted batten storm-
tossed against the pole-sitter's unknowing
bliss soon to be blunderbustered with
sprites alight on the dewy dandelion
of aurora stories told around the candescence
flagons raised with fellow-shouldered embrace
conducting an autopsy of nested-doll-dreams
forest bathed in the peaty rut of 
ecstaticly snorting a word-wallowing wail
into the wind, altar-offered weft for
angel-encrusted yarns knotted knowingly
to speak across the era-ed ages and
candle our fetal struggle for genuine
yearning muscles torn into a new
strength, a new stitch in the youthfully
neptuned fountain on the piazza of
our noonday cappucinoed daydreams?
■





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