Chewing Change: Poetry about Me as a Writer

My words are like cheap plastic jewelry
    showering down from circus vendors
with painted smiles and dripping eyes
    like city-women.
Candy worn by ravegirls with
shallow values and high expectations
wanting a quick fix,
their dreams served up like picnics
on a silver platter.
Tiny pills like tic tacs
        (splish, splash)   
    pink
        and blue
            and white

like dotted highway dividers at night—blank white prayers
paid for with plastic
    paper is only for
postcards and pamphlets sent from
somewhere South of the Milky Way
        signed
Sincerely,
    Alice

When I was little I wanted my words to be perfectly polished
offered up on gold-tipped-tongue like
Swarovsky crystals, or maybe diamonds
mined by angels,     nursing their addiction
the affliction to the silver spoon
that tastes like copper,
 the flavor of blood on the inside of your cheek
like chewing change.
the smell of something strange on the wind

    and I would be the world’s oyster.
Proffering in my palm the plastic pearl
for you to keep
    (or disregard)
discarded like used
condoms or cigarettes unsmoked
curled like snakeskin in the
reflection of the constellations. 







-The Shutter Muse