Sam Reiss

 



scape’s chance,

the penny cool in the middle of your



otherwise



chaotic

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



gleaming



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-



stretched

arms you give me everything



but the thin



debossed

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.

Introduce me first as a victory

of grain measurement. ‘Here is a man made

well, wheat flour packed without overflow.’

Introduce me next as a miracle.

‘At a dry desert wedding short of wine

this man here is like a large stone jar filled

to its stable brim with pure water turned

to wine.’ Please introduce me thus, then turn

and run, for like a young boxer fucking

the judge before the big fight, like the judge

with a gun but no pants, like a trespass

or a good vigilante, I let law

spill. Yes, I am force and in full force, both

the fullness and the panic of measure.

*For LR*



 



At first



I saw just one light



crisp blue



 



line, nearly



skylike, there, high above



the rest



 



of the stone,



unkept, a bright slice



of the



 



fine mosaic



sets, unstressed. I reached out:



*Hey, look*



* *



*up, excuse me*



*there, look up.*



 



She looked



like an exceptional criminal,



or a cranial



 



angel, or



like something of a lazy



hunter with



 



eyes unmet.



Faintly, she ground her



shoulders



 



down one



by one, falling taut: *Look*



*up, please,*



* *



*this is a very rare*



*picture of the earth.*



 



Then, I saw so



many more, as if the blue slice



said, ‘at once



 



go’ or, ‘time



for vespers,’ and all of the shy



lines, the shier



 



colors, burst



forth and up, untaming, a light



and limited



 



take off not



to space of course but to the very top



and back:* Look*



* *



*up, my sister,*



*look up, my sister.*



 



Suddenly I saw



that all of the lines were gone, even the sky-



like first lit



 



slice, gone, swift



as a storm’s turn, and in the dark



she looked



 



just like the



poet, but so much stonier than



stone, a wax-



 



ing statue for



all beautiful men and stone, so I looked



up: *Silhouette,*



* *



*linger me dimly,*



*then extinguish.*