A Journal of the American Dream – Beneath the Center of a Cosmic Sky


i

when I think
of Las Vegas;
the Vegas
outside the strip

I think
of dusty mom and pop casinos
surrounded by empty spaces
long lonely boulevards
and dim street lamps

when I’m inside Vegas
those boulevards become thoroughfares
lined with homes and courtyards

a deep pile carpet
of red and pink
Spanish-tile rooftops

ii

at night
I realize
there is a noise in Vegas
the sound of freeways
and laughter

voices calling out
in a joy of life

whether
it is the raucous noise
of drunken carouse
or simply the exhilaration
of an American affluence
smack in the middle of nowhere
is impossible to say

iii

I stand in the quiet
of my small patio
and listen to the noise

it is a happy noise
the noise of life
joy; and an occasional
squeal of surprise

not the rasping cough
of a win on the casino floor
but the voice of the thrill
of the unbridled night

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