Money mecca first is glow behind dark hills
then flames to razzle-dazzle boulevards of sidewalked
believers seeing visions…offering flashing idols
metal paper plastic…handing chips and cards to proxies
in temples where prayers of the faithful…please god please
rise to heaven through tobacco incense haze toward
all seeing watchers over them.
Where devotion…caffeine stoked…blurs lines
of day and night as acolytes peak intensity
with alcohol and speed, and where testosterone
sifts in city air to blend with auto fumes.
Where dulled disciples receive comfort
at the altars of buffet, and toss trample
paper icons of nude gods and goddesses
offered from street stationed church of
Eros zealots.
Where each Monday, delegated deacons
follow morning rites, bag chips left in
collection plates at Sunday’s mecca churches,
appear at the temples’ gates for a ritual
of redemption.
Bonnie Marshall
Artwork by Leroy Neiman
Proem... 
Your symbolism are very finely crafted. I would have wished that my own attempts at the subject had proved as eloquent: http://wp.me/p3V1dK-BR
Well done!
That you should like this poem is very meaningful to me. Everyone experiences Las Vegas uniquely. Actually, it’s quite fun. Smiles.