For the bullionist believes more wishes in the well somehow improves odds, whether by sheer count of coin or value of each face. But, gates can turn heavenly or leadenly—opening way to oneiric odysseys or closing quay to soul sellers and gyp ships. Hold not less faith in the loafer’s penny, tossed in the fountain for neither desire nor mimicked indifference, but for half-second’s fleeting joy—aural plop and rainy drop—that, then, does not so metallically sink as it does metaphysically rise spirit’s peace via winsome wonder—and its granted waves reverberating. ; )
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