One lasso for landing another one-night stand, tightening
around one more next morning.
Two ends braided into an Arabian’s lush mane emerging
through the bedroom window.
Three twists that predate ax and wheel, ghosts of four hands
that fashioned rope fossils.
Five bowlines for five drunk rabbits, coming out of five holes,
circling five tipsy trees, then back again.
A clove hitch slipped for six renegades who entangle reasonable
threads that could anchor the inevitable windstorm.
Seven paracords coil like question marks in hovering
helicopters; eight lechers piloting, hungry for hearts.
Nine Gordian knots entwined with ten Gordian knots ignoring
Lady Liberty weeping as they snake around her neck.
Eleven working-ends ready for binding as pearl gray
skies metastasize after another election night.
A dozen macramé plant hangers on garage sale table—smirking
neighbors taunting hippie-dinosaur readied for the fight.
