The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Cave Art Gnostic

Ludicity is as artificial as gravity
So murmured the spittled gnostic turning
upon the eddies of fingerprinted walls
and cathedral arch gargoyle grimaces
finding the compass ever pointing into corners
leaping down the cascade of falling timber
avalanche rolling behind his frivolity unleashed
tipping the spinning plates into fragments
the one has become many and perhaps most
he chortles uncontrollably to dry the dampness
and drag shadows into the naked noonbeam
as temporality nips unsuccessfully
while the fox tooth glistens around his neck
and he recites another wockypsalm canto
to the maidens who wait for his entourage
to find itself bitumen-stoppered and 
ziggurat-stacked into the linear logic of
glyphs on clay left in swollen impressions
while he prances between the asymptotes tilting
within the moral perimeter yet never to land
in the same spot twice balanced on the head of
a razor bleeding oxides from the acid riverbed
until the yay or nay loses all relevance
and lets the masked speak in raw voltages
rigid bargains of a modern experiment sold 
out for pharmaceutical aphorisms that rhyme
so the broken-children-alley way turned turnpike
can hum harvest rye theorems of no matters
and disregard the metaphysical whirlwind
that remains on the other side whenever the
voice is raised to an entitled crescendo
and the bow is given to the numb and dying
for kintsugi-kindness to bestow undeserved
meaning or not meaning of moonsails
gliding past the divine crane undisturbed
and the wavering of unsung memorials
while the dance splashes effluence upon
the unscaffolded
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