The Night Satoshi Sold

By Elle Jacques-Pierre

  1. Truthfully it took conviction, putting faith in meta fiction,
  2. All night waiting, anticipating death cross prophecies foretold.
  3. Manning then my battlestation, browsing tabs of information,
  4. Suddenly a small vibration, coming from my phone in gold.
  5. Unknown caller, can’t be bothered, I silenced my phone in gold.
  6. Privacy my right to hold.
  1. In laser eyes’ peripheral, I noticed something visceral,
  2. Alarms flashing, charts were crashing — knives falling on bitcoins of gold.
  3. Checking out the price per token, reading rumors harshly spoken
  4. Rumors of a system broken, of our founder dumping gold.
  5. Could it be a trick by Odin — the zero block dumping gold?
  6. Fear not the raven — just hold.
  1. Atwitter were the gallows birds, spreading terror with their false words
  2. Fools aping what they’d only heard — apes in click holes, getting rick rolled.
  3. Clearly just a counter-fitter, all that talk adds up to chitter,
  4. Little dip, and now you’re bitter? Smooth brains, all those who got trolled.
  5. Questioning, I paused to dither; was I the one getting trolled?
  6. Trolls on payrolls — milksops — hold.
  1. Stepped outside in silk pajamas, fleeing online melodramas,
  2. Praying for just one more comma, freezing in the December cold.
  3. Wrapped myself in scarf and jacket — leather, with a blinged-out placket,
  4. Wondering if I could hack it, and alchemize lead to gold.
  5. Fish with the ambition of whales spin tales of crosses in gold.
  6. Laser eyes on the prize: hold.
  1. Back inside my picayune lair, I grabbed my battlestation’s chair,
  2. Reeling from cuatro comma prayers of returns in millionfold.
  3. Dressing up my virtual dolls, peacocking in online guild halls,
  4. Another dose of cortisol, missed calls said my phone in gold.
  5. Started my secure protocol, screened calls on my phone in gold.
  6. Calling back, I sat on hold.
  1. Ringing, ringing, got no answer. Waiting on phones causes cancer,
  2. Time to play my necromancer, the necromancer I’d just rolled.
  3. From loot piñatas, treasures spring, pulling addiction like a string,
  4. Then a shrill Pavlovian ding, in a text: Satoshi sold.
  5. Ding, ding — two more. “Pick up, Elm0re, it’s your bro. Satoshi sold.”
  6. Satoshi sold? Who would hold?
  1. Waves beaming from a satellite traversed the moonless winter night,
  2. Blew up my phone and caused a fright — from the dark web number untold.
  3. Reaching, falling, and then a thud, caller I’d murder in cold blood,
  4. Flash-boom-crash now became flash flood — a crack in my phone in gold.
  5. Ringtone replaced by speakerphone: a bark from my phone in gold,
  6. “Bro, get out now. Do not hold.
  1. “Satoshi bro, he called the show. I’d sell right now before it blows.
  2. The exit door’s about to close — crypto winter will be ice cold.”
  3. Echoing throughout my haven, advice from a so-called maven:
  4. “There’s a haiku, too. He gave in. One hundo Satoshi sold —
  5. Signed PGP from MIT — no question Satoshi sold.”
  6. Satoshi sold? Who would hold?
  1. When moon when lambo
  2. In the ledger who will hold
  3. Buy the fucking dip
  1. “Haiku hack or blockchain poet, only key signed bits can show it.
  2. Dark words from dark webs? Dubious. Don’t believe everything you’re told.
  3. Markets are manipulated, your sold coins were just donated,
  4. Your accounts are now castrated. Never dump your bag of gold.
  5. Community will buy the dip — I’ll top up my bag of gold.
  6. The candlestick says to hold.”
  1. “It’s cryptographic certainty, cross-chained for all eternity.
  2. Posted by the Genesis Key? Bro, are you like, senile and old?”
  3. Poems posted by recluses are at best plain inconclusive,
  4. Probably more like delusive — yet all signs said: time to fold.
  5. Narrative that felt abusive — all signs saying time to fold.
  6. “Trust but verify. Please hold.”
  1. Window opened — keyboard shortcut — evidence I couldn't rebut,
  2. Signed with digital John Hancock — in black and white: Satoshi sold.
  3. Apocalypse upon my screen, candlesticks red instead of green,
  4. Mountains crumbling into ravines, all coin markets oversold.
  5. Currency under guillotine, knife-fall on coins oversold.
  6. The consensus would not hold.
  1. “He sold and you should follow suit, to hold your coin is a crapshoot,
  2. I didn’t wait to execute — when the bank bros are out, I fold.”
  3. The snakes that swallow tail and kin, like wolves that hide inside sheepskin,
  4. They’d cut my throat just for a win. Was there honor to uphold?
  5. E-gold roach to greenback kingpin, my own account I’d uphold.
  6. “Later, bro. Don’t you dare hold.”
  1. Sought out then a swift defrayal — trade by trade, a self-betrayal —
  2. Putting virgin coins on sale, hoarding green paper unbacked by gold.
  3. Mephistopheles’ final thrust, folded instead of going bust,
  4. A total breaking of the trust — broken, when Satoshi sold.
  5. Deserters now covered in dust — I sold when Satoshi sold.
  6. In the ledger, who will hold?
  1. Glutton’s eternal tug-of-war, of seeking just one dollar more,
  2. Leading me to visions threescore: Ulysses’ heart, frozen in cold;
  3. Hecate, guarding the trailhead, cut-and-stretched on Procrustes’ bed;
  4. Rare and radiant maidenhead, lost when I folded and sold.
  5. All to buy a gold dragonhead, won when I folded and sold.
  6. In the ledger, who will hold?
  1. Dollars rocketed in my mind, when a voice whispered from behind,
  2. Mephisto’s call on humankind, “We both know it’s safer to fold.”
  3. But Batman jumps without the rope; and one chip left means there’s still hope;
  4. So with prices on a down slope, I clicked and rebought my gold.
  5. I could not fold, I would not fold — clicked and bought all that I’d sold.
  6. In the ledger, who will hold?
  1. Bungee jumping down to zero, the dip was flipped by true heroes —
  2. Flipped by global apes united, backed by diamond hands plated gold.
  3. Buy high, sell low would be my art, fail and fail and again restart,
  4. In all of us, I’d not lose heart. My firm position: long hold.
  5. Digging in to do my part — evermore — position: long hold.
  6. In community, long hold.
  1. Testament turned to covenant, a sovereign self-government,
  2. A constitution of one commandment: in community, long HODL.
  3. Faith is leaping without knowing, fear prevents from ever growing,
  4. The infinite ledger showing, dusting the cowards who fold —
  5. The bank men, the company men, the yes men — all cravens who sold.
  6. True believers: hold, hold, hold.