For "Mean Girl" I once knew 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.