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For RWT

the other day i was thinking about the term pyramid scheme, and why they called it pyramid scheme and not triangle scheme

and i asked you what you thought

you thought it added a certain gravitas, and linked the idea of economic prosperity

with some of history’s greatest architectural achievements

unconsciously suggesting a silent wealth of gold and heat

a triangle is two dimensional, and therefore

a less striking mental image than the idea of a third dimension of financial fraud

which is how many dimensions of financial fraud the term pyramid scheme suggests

but i had to pause for a second at the financial fraud part

because it occurred to me i didn’t know what pyramid schemes really were

i knew they had something to do with people getting money from nothing

like

the person at the top of the pyramid scheme, or more accurately

triangle scheme, acquires a number of investors and takes their money

and then pays the first lot of investors with the money from another bunch of investors

and so on and so forth

all the way to the bottom of the triangle

or pyramid face

which is the kind of stupid thing that happens

if you keep your money in a pyramid and not a bank account

although if you ask me banks are the real pyramid schemes after all

or was love the real pyramid scheme? i can’t remember


maybe it’s better to keep your money in a pyramid than a bank

and i should shop around and compare the interest rates on different pyramids

maybe i should open up a savings pyramid

with a whole bunch of trapdoors and malarias

to keep the financial anthropologists

i mean bankers out

my emeralds cooling under the ground like beautiful women’s eyes


i think this was supposed to be a metaphor for something

but i can’t remember where i was going with it

and now it’s been swept away by the winds of

whatever

but knowing me, it was probably love

that great dark blue sex hope that keeps coming true

that cartoon black castle with a single bird flying over it


i don’t know where this poem ends

how far below the sand

but it’s still early evening

and you and I are a little drunk

you answer the phone

you pour me a drink

i know you hate the domestic in poetry but you should have thought of that before you invited me to move in with you

i used to think arguments were the same as honesty

i used to think screaming was the same as passion

i used to think pain was meaningful

i no longer think pain is meaningful

i never learned anything good from being unhappy

i never learned anything good from being happy either

the way i feel about you has nothing to do with learning

it has nothing to do with anything

but i feel it down in the corners of my sarcophagus

i feel it in my sleep

even when i am not thinking about you

you are still pouring through my blood, like fire through an abandoned hospital ward

these coins are getting heavy on my eyes

it has been a great honor and privilege to love you

it has been a great honor and privilege to eat cold pizza on your steps at dawn

love is so stupid: it’s like punching the sun

and having a million gold coins rain down on you

which you don’t even have to pay tax on

because sun money is free money

and i’m pretty sure there are no laws about that

but i would pay tax

because i believe that hospitals and education

and the arts should be publicly funded

even this poem

when i look at you, my eyes are two identical neighborhood houses on fire

when i look at you my eyes bulge out of my skull like a dog in a cartoon

when i am with you

an enormous silence descends upon me

and i feel like i am sinking into the deepest part of my life

we walk down the street, with the grass blowing back and forth

i have never been so happy

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