All the World is Full of In


scape’s chance,
the penny cool in the middle of your


palm, all creases dashing as

they’ve dashed

since you
were born, darling, I’m sure of

it, I know

the science,
have watched enough babies’

hands grow

into debtors
handing me due bronze (copper-tin) coins to

know those lines

aren’t going
anywhere. Lawless as ever, they’re

yours. Do you hear

that? It’s raining
bronze in this, my medallion city. Vegas.

Old Clark

County. I built
The Riviera with pennies stacked

Lincolns on

Lincolns just
like the one you have there, though

my Lincolns

never have
a scar on their cheek never tar

over LIBERTY’s

Y God no
my Lincolns are always fresh, well

rested &

eager to
be stacked into my tall jutty


Palace. It’s
2018 & people like you are coming from

all over

to try to game
a piece of your own palace, to win

& win a

new life. But
I win. Every time. Lives & lives.

With out-

arms you give me everything

but the thin

lines breaking in arches across

your empty

palms. Be
calm. I am sparing you. Keep

your penny.

Keep this
glinting instressed relic

of your time.