A nuke for a lover
strapped on tight
going deep
into spaces that mutate
around the smoky edges
of a mushroom head
that pushes and pushes
until it wins
every time

editors note:

Ah, capricious love! He went for fusion; got fission, instead. (We welcome Scott to our conspiratorial confab of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out!) – mh clay

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