Barefoot
Your every finger
is a note, a pink piano
of majors & minors
& sevenths & clusters
that haven’t ever
been invented yet.
Don’t be my girlfriend.
Be my radio station.
Your every finger
is a flower, a palette
of pigmented fragrance
— primary, secondary,
tertiary stamens
of pollinating hues.
Don’t be my lover.
Be my garden.
Your every finger
is a muliebral meal
of epicurean heaven
— savory, sweet,
piquant, surreal
w/ hormonal nourishment.
Don’t be my life partner.
Be my last meal on earth.
This is all of me
turning into
half of us.
Radio
I thought of you
with the radio on
and noticed
how many songs
were written
about you
before you
were even
born.
You love
every love song
like the last one
will be your last.
But you always
loved the new one
more than
the last one.
Why would you
care if a song
came and gone.
Good tunes
heal all wounds
and your radio
is always
on.
There’s no end
to your hit parade.
There’s ever
a carousel
of verses
and chords
all written
just for you.
There’s no
favorite;
there’s only
diapason.
I had the
radio on
and I
heard it
sing to you.
Craig Kurtz is a 54 year old man with Asperger’s who lives at Twin Oaks Intentional Community. His first record, The Philosophic Collage EP (1981) was reissued by BDR last year. His poetry has been featured in Randomly Accessed Poetics, Out of Our, and Mad Swirl. He is also been a music critic at Perfect Sound Forever since 2003.
work to a calm 
I love you baby and i am your souls radio station but you are the wave & song., I loved only a few in my life compared to you many, this is more about you than me, please end your hit parade with me-solo….this half of me waiting on you- my other half to complete me so i;m whole again.