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Cloud Spoon Range
by Steven Schmidt
street Too Alike:
Desperate to coddle the one I would win,
I make myself tough as St. Joan
and bend like a cotter pin.
Fancy runs guided by smell like an ant,
and burrows, no heed for tone.
Proud Daphne holds laurels, looks south, feet afraid
to root in one place like a chemical plant.
It's time for a love grenade.
ranch Heavy Knit at Noon:
Red hands labor, a green mouth to fill,
slithering dreams to pour out,
far from a home whose dead chill
forbids gluttony. Hands row, wash, climb.
Lush delta sympathies sprout,
nourished by sweat 'til their gazes expand,
eager to serve conjugations of time.
A love grenade is at hand.
vault Universe for Two, License Null:
Fantasy and oil now warm;
Hands, eyes, and nerves still hot.
Shattered endearments swarm,
harmonize distraction, stoke
a hug that binds to one spot.
Brief gust of fear, no cough,
no ring of sulfur smoke--
our love grenade has gone off.