Author’s Note
This piece isn’t about greed or excess.
It’s about intention.
About money as a tool instead of a god,
and the difference between hoarding wealth
and redistributing it with purpose.
“Dead presidents” aren’t worshipped here —
they’re repurposed.
Laid to rest, then put back into circulation.
This poem lives in that tension:
wanting enough power to make a difference,
without letting that power define who you are.
— Rowan Evans
not to mourn wealth,
but to redistribute it.
Graveyard Pockets
Poetry by Rowan Evans
I don’t need money
to come to me.
I don’t need wealth
to be happy.
I just…
I want to turn my
pockets into graveyards,
fill ’em with dead presidents.
Then I’ll spread the wealth,
like I’m robbing the grave.
Turn the bank,
to a wake—
cash laid out like lilies,
big withdraw on
a day of remembrance.
If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]
Poetry by Rowan Evans 
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