Craig Kurtz

The Elopement Note

To all you clever people
who don’t believe in love:
They’re fixing the numbers on the public clock
& they falsified the weather report.
The sky is rigged, the clouds corrupt;
the sun’s a slut, the moon takes bribes.
From all this invidiousness
I heartedly efface myself.

To all you hipster intellectuals
who don’t believe in fate:
The verities come in vending machines
& destiny is a programming code.
The muses are but brummagem, kismet is cajolery;
free will’s wrapped in cellophane, conation is downloadable.
For all this ignominiousness
here’s your prize — epic abyss.

To all you supercilious cynics
who don’t believe in anything:
Romance is anachronous
& arete is démodé.
Sincerity is a double cross, matedness a despotic plot;
marriage is the in-&-out, loyalty a sucker’s bet.
Hip hip hooray for your ironicalness,
& boo-hoo (ha-ha) on my dumb happiness.

— Your most humble servant,
the luna moth stuck to your windshield.

Lover’s Tussle

I won’t kiss you ’til we quarrel;
I want to know that you fight fair
and strong and long, with love;
so the worst of you accords
with your best that I adore.
Let us tussle, then rebound
refreshed for tempests
much more kind,
not less profound.

Craig Kurtz © 2014

Bouquet of Words

I hear like e.e. cummings
when I’m in your words.
My thoughts trickle down
your neck,
then plash back (astonished)
to your lips
(producing sounds).
My abashed, unfocussed
(do rather)
achieve such
piquant, plangent
when you aliment
my senses
with your uncanny,
I feel your thoughts
in my arms
but (so true)
caressing that universe
abounding such
pagination (myriads of
might (well, quite)
implore my tremulous,
some inestimable
(no less)
years long.
I imagined
that I heard
every language
ever once invented
(uttered or not)
in your cosseting
(& limitless)

Craig Kurtz © 2014