The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Fearing to Play Openly

I gaze down
at the white space
waiting to press tool into corpus
to snap irregular parts to a synergy
conjure the scried apparition to float
castles upon the flowing receptivity
dip fingers into a quicksilver embrace
while letting the madhatter find his dissipation

Was it an accident to fill the pentacled walls?
exhausted by the incessant naming and discernment
of subtleties while holding the tangential galaxy 
at the horizon's edge with omnipotent strokes
carving the heavily grooved earth into avatar
amulets with pendulous gravidities that capture
the extent of all imagined trajectories or at
least as many as I could sum up in a few
stanzas

Where is the ignition
the combustion of balking horses fearing
the kiss of boundless seraphim will take me
into the next rapture before my last drip falls
like an unintended tear too slowly brushed away,
a heart exploding from the tear of muscles peeling
away the last veneer with hands outstretched and
cupping the dangling fruit to catch its ravishing 
nectar fifty years fermented and now finally 
free
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