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