The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker
Silver Street

Glistens the cresty asphalt rolled open
slickened by a shower of should-have-been snow
the postbox clinging to its unicicled post
waiting for no velvet ribbon package until
overripe eyes fall with a plop to the ground 
like golden sultanas dripping with dispersion
beveled into a flinty leather visage
behind neon yellow shades reflecting the
sparkle of hoarfrost across undespoiled tundra 

Pretend there is an undiscovered peak condescending
and climb the monotonous drain of gilded grays
while nature's nosegay shrinks into its foreskin
and green is lost to blue bays of untipped glaciers

Crisp the crunch of crystal lightbulbs broken beneath
wicking wool-encrusted toe mitten cheese baking 
while armpit anxiety escapes the deligent whiff
an alchemy of webbed plaster cast angel wings 
overwhelmed by the backdraft of tender attempts
slowingly steadily crafting bivouac days out
of a mother slumbering while the baby wets his eye
behind neon red flames licking up all the
feelings of finality entombed in a baklava brain

Grope with abandon for the unclaimed crampon
and ditch dig until the fever finds its focus
while the sphere fuses it all into iron
and blackness is lost to the brilliant rays of 

the last fear of negligent collapse sintering
with the lustrous fire of a carbonado mind driven

down the alley-turned-avenue of unbroken dreams.
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