plato sold truths
to the rich boys.
plato also sold
the cave,
but,
kept the light;
a franchise of shadows
for the boys who can
and will pay.
the truths are ours now,
they chanted.
the light!
the light!
the light!
be our light from now,
to the end of time.

maslow stacked bricks,
for building
millions of pyramids
from scratch.
first hunger,
then love,
then
climb, climb, climb,
as if the body
were a ledger.
as if the soul
were only debt.

the rich bought ladders,
the poor got shovels.
somewhere,
a philosopher
laughs
into his wine,
somewhere, a ceo
meditates on his yacht.

they built pyramids,
not tombs,
live ones,
where we kneel
at the altar of enough,
where the peak
is always
just one more
purchase,
one more
promotion,
one more
almost.
almost there.

meanwhile,
the desert grows.
the sphinx won’t answer,
because the riddle was rigged
from the start.