The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Teal Yin Yellow Yang

My watery dreams congeal
into a gaze from the adularescent aspic
of the once vitreous humors that
ever lie like a virgin to be ravished
by golden shadows leaning into their approach
soft orbs on axes affixed to the jitters
of attention stirred into a frenzy or the
fading afterglow of afterimages releasing
their firefly-sheathed phosphorescence,
lighthouses hovering above the steely ice churn
of formerly blue-green waves gently colliding
aquamarine into the pitter of the rain's yang
leaping stridently across the fallen crests 
almost aspray with contrails rising aloft
the ornately embellished retina stain returns 
to its tabla rasa tint upon the carrara slab
lightly veined with feathered gray misgivings
and once again awash with turquoise thoughts
shimmering like waves lapping playfully across
the gilding of the eddies that harbor tiny
sunlit worlds, stolen daydreams as embryonic
as an untetheredly fantastic dimension
that hesitates before it is forever consumed.
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