TRIANGLE - A mythsterious holographic mirage-collage

Here then is another slice of enigmatic poetrie masquerading as a sortastory. You have been warned.

TRIANGLE

In the dream, the truck is careening through air.
Your friend in the backseat screams silence in slow motion. The steering-wheel locks. Beneath is the chasm.
Time crawls. Perhaps it has not yet started.
In the pit of desire, Khufu is laughing at you. If your heart is heavier than a feather, you will not pass go, and not collect one hundred coins to place beneath anyone’s tongue.
In the burial chamber, the mummified sleep secure in their striated levels of occultation. These mechanics oscillating, the harmonic vibrations build a tone that operates at the highest levels. Do not pass go.
They have asked what lies behind the final door of the pyramid. Perhaps the dread visage of the ibis. Perhaps the braying of the oxen.
The spiral of galaxies. Every servant to have served you.
Yes and no lost in the helix. The misunderstanding of aeons. Bloodletting and wine.
Only one question is allowed. The final door leads to nothing, and God knows where.
Ancient knowledge was here once. Then Lucifer came and swept aside the stars.
The ink still drying on the papyrus. Some things like this must have taken more than a hundred years.
Billions of understandings stacked up like societies. Lying in the grave with every neuron firing.
Pictures and light. The cavern wall bends. Ezekiel’s wheels turn and break the clouds.
The warriors descend. Someone opened the bible and only water poured out. This is flood-time, and the purification of your conquering shall consume all.
One Russian doll inside of another. The children in their masks stand around laughing at you. The wheels of the jeep spin endlessly: small stones cast through the void.
Flying saucers. Secret knowledge forgotten. The possibility of pushing through. Handfuls of dust. The sand and the egg-timer. A crystal maze.
Ancient memory buried deep. The rock edifice blocking the way.
Every angle delineated. A door locked from the inside. The answer is yes.
A trap, a trick; the cave of mind. The answer is no.
Lights blink on the dashboard. The three dots of the hunter’s belt. Seven sisters.
Some gather to wave farewell. The river is calm and blacker than onyx.
In the dream, motion is standing still. The soul enclosed, in the vehicle of the body. Transformation breaking the membrane.
All things, within us. God waiting outside the universe, allowing atoms to settle. In love, destruction.
These feet, for always, on the ground.