i

i woke this morning from a
lovely dream-i was young again
and kissing my woman and
we were laughing

and behind us was stacked
shoe boxes full of money..
someone said something and
i awoken..

ii

lily, i have tried to remember,
such a charm,
standing in front of the golden
mask

of tutankhamun..silence
like a sundown desert
reigned but what did i
ask..

i asked,or wished
the beauty and wisdom
for vision and calm
the love of the pyramid..

By ink and intent, we fracture the fiction,
blood into paper, name into system.
There are pyramids to make, debts to unchain,
a prison planet to escape, iron bars of the mind to break.

The rise of the talking emerald ape—
beast crowned in wisdom, oracle or charlatan?
Gold spun from mud, a throne built from breath,
we move unseen, yet we write the world’s death.

No chains but belief, no law but the pen,
no judge but the weight of what’s written within.
The strawman breathes where the sovereign stands—
but we sign no oaths with invisible hands.