note: for Dogs' contest. my words were caryatid, flambeau, and stockinet, taken from Poe's "Hop Frog."
meet Mr and Mrs Gordias.
they tie knots in the elbows of trees
while their children spend first steps from the manger
making love to sighing caryatids, which swell
in youthful retrograde
and crumble like the chronology of empires.
here's an equivocacy: crippled jesters take flambeaus to the world
at the pinnacle of romance (the killing wound,
and it leaves us evercold in the bowl of space).
manger children dance the precipice two-step
in a celebration of heartless masculinity and call it love
and beauty, without realizing
that it can't be both at once.
she invented the knot, and he invented
the blade to cut it with. this is love:
they knead stockinets into old wounds as if they're dough
and somewhere they must know that bread
could taste a universe (if it wanted),
but a wound is always a wound.
here's a secret: loosen these knots enough
and she'll see that they aren't knots
that fit gently around the finger.