the coin, the coin, the coin.

a consistent theme: the first man—Adam. The last man

Adrian. Like a “Comprehensive A-Z” except

without “to Z” the A-Z that never gets anywhere

like the impossibility of ever forgetting or giving up

that coin you gave me

in the spur of the moment. Capture it. Make it your

dictionary. That never gets anywhere.

Just 1,087 pages of attempts

to sum up what cannot be, what refuses to be.

and entry upon entry of split infinity compressed like a tesseract.

like the way my skin came off on your hand; I mean if 

humans shed gallons of skin per year it’s probable that you

took some of it. The debate we had

in science class. The universe and how it exists and my focus

how you put your head into your hands— 

That hurts my head how can the universe expand if there’s nothing for it

to expand into? My universe can. So can yours.

the coin, the coin, the coin, the coin. My universe may be disproving

that theory. It seems to have shrunk. That coin, that coin.

Ahab has nothing on me. The coin….

then he asked when he saw it if I’d stolen it. Do you have 

that little faith in me? Lies tell the truth. And it would mean

Nothing if I’d stolen it. Nothing. A steel penny from 1943. Nothing.

Adam must have wished that his ancestors would get a bit further than this.

He’d hoped we’d get to

Zephaniah and start over—and we did, only to end up where

Adrian left us—in the garden. Coney Island,

do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into

paradise and left you there?

Ahab got nowhere. A son of Adam and Eve. And

we’ve made no progress. The last man was as cursed

As the first. The coin, the coin, the coin.