Opulentia ex Machina

Why is it just delicious
To trace elaborate knots
In the threads of a story?

A character who returns,
A connection that connects,
A loose end sewn together

With a fresh significance.
Sometimes writers will fight it
In the name of mimesis,

Truer representation,
Fiction closer to the world,
Or out of sheer defiance.

Readers aren’t going to like that.
Might as well compose weird poems.
The gun and the lottery

In the first act have to mean
Something by the denouement
For a satisfying clinch.

It’s so delicious to watch
A weave that works like a watch,
Whether moral or amoral,

So long as it’s richly sewn
To look like a little world
Framed, when the world has no frame.