Craig Kurtz

Synopsis of a Courtship

It’s the gentlest storm,

this barometric pressure

presaging a unison.

Curiosity infers a missing.

Trees may sway in the wind,

a future imploring their skin.

Denial unravels when it’s confronting

the problem of rain.

It’s the quietest of storms,

these exchanges of words

exploring respective similitudes.

Assessing foretokens a longing.

The soil absorbs information

to succor refurbished nutrition.

Circumspection submits to acuteness,

confessing the problem of thirst.

It’s the most complaisant of storms,

this ushering of puissance

amidst convergent elements.

Motion concedes desideratum.

Clouds unfetter unsettled satiety

upon earthly circuits of covetousness.

Parsimony capitulates to quenching,

attesting the dilemma of appetence.

It’s the tranquilest of phenomena,

this interosculated motion

redounding dialectics of pith.

Reciprocation is indispensible.

Roots will swell and luxuriate with weal,

transmitting data to enraptured land.

Ambivalence expires, for all matter is made facile

when rudiments of cupidity impetrate the soil.

Craig Kurtz © 2014


Untenable believing

has neutralized our strengths.

Fiascoes of passion

have anesthetized our choice.

Calamitous decisions

unravelled our volition

when we qualified resistance

and invited our perdition.

We are the victims.

Unreasonable assessments

disordered our convictions.

Our destinies were finished

with inturbidated scruples.

We were undone in seconds

when we deigned to compromise

a rectitude of continence

in untoward occasions.

We became the casualties.

The kindnesses we proffered

pulled restraint out of our ken.

The proprieties we impetrated

hastened our catastrophe.

We derelicted auspices

and bungled admonitions,

unwarily capitulating

to the venom of temptation.

We are insatiated goners.

And now that we wear toe tags,

his and hers unbiasedly,

we find our fates divided —

one in hell and one in heaven —

our oaths asphyxiated

by a bureaucratic mishap.

If time reversed and I could choose

I wouldn’t evitate the risks.

We die to live, and back again.

Craig Kurtz © 2014