billions

in the river of plastic gold coins everyone is 
a billionaire. floating on our backs. our crinkling 
minted glories. we all have houses like cities 
& we all have peanut butter imported from the moon.
our money talks to itself in the vault at night
when outside the iron gates slink the danger
of snakes & their poverty. it is important 
to take a step back & observe ours lives as fiction.
where are the symbols ringing? a name could 
signal a tragic death if money isn't thrown at it. 
we build private gardens full of new spiraling fruits
& bright weeping flowers. a jar of tears.
lockets sprouting from branches. 
we trade stories of being children who grew up
with nothing but windows to eat. carry money
in all our pockets. it's fake money but all money
is fake money. jokes about starvation.
the river gushing without a thought of drought.
no one asks where the coins flow from
because that might kill our high. 
unlike fairies, disbelief in money 
only makes it stronger. we have to ride this
while we can. what about a chocolate fountain? 
what about a ski slope? what about replacing the stairs
with slides? in the yard are the bones 
of our grandmothers. could money resurrect
their bones? it certainly could. 
we want them to make dinner just like they used to. 
the stove is automatic
& so are the doors & so are the dogs.
we don't really love each other. no not at all
but money without company is too sad
so we keep each other around & make toasts
to each other & hold séance when possible.
mostly, we talk about snakes & how they'll never know
what it's like to have our squareish teeth
or what it's like to open a catalog
& order anything we want. a carrot juicer
& a new wallet. yes, they'll just crawl
on their way towards the nest where they knot
with each other in brilliant patterns.
my one & only secret is sometimes
i wish i was a snake. also, once i ate a coin
& i still feel it where my lungs should be.
i breathe gold. fake gold but
but gold all the same.