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





