Another piece of paper
added to the score. Continuing
to keep score, of what is nothing more.
His life is a bore– solely a boar squealing to
a whore, wishing something more than her
pretending to adore. Lies on paper of a faked
interest. Seamless mistresses coming and
going. Lying dormant, Pharaoh solely sleeps
and weeps. Pyramids scheming in this cycle
demeaning. Steaming in his cave, caving in
the sarcophagus. No source of
metamorphosis. Crying and
wishing to be flying. Real-eyes
he’s slowly dying.