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

Next page