The lady with a suitcase and her face worn ragged, chiseled by the tools of time,

these pyramids I've hidden in, the dunes that buried me, the sea of sand that swallowed me,

she whistles merrily
seemingly without a care.

I'm fighting for every breath I take
the sun bakes my skin
I see
more pyramids to hide within
I wonder if it ever ends,

she wonders where her next meal
is coming from.

Relative?
not necessarily a next of kin
just
another pyramid and I've seen
lots of them.

A man playing solitaire
seemingly without a care
alone,
he too
makes his own pyramid

Home is where the heart is
and if you're heartless?

I jump
it's what I do
fourteen seconds of
spiritual flight
a race into the dawn
of night,

but sometimes I go
fishing instead.