The Bread We Eat in Dreams

And for awhile

the mouse-god ran loose

eating

box office

celluloid

human hearts

and called it good.

II.

If you play Fantasia backwards

you can hear the mantra of the mouse-god sounding.

Hiya, kids!

Let me tell you something true:

the future

is plastics

the future

is me.

I am the all-dancing thousand-eared unembodied god of Tomorrowland.

And only in that distant

Space Mountain Age of glittering electro-synthetic perfection

will I become fully myself, fully

apotheosed, for only then

will you be so tired of my laughing iconographic infinitely fertile

and reproducing

perpetual smile-rictus

my red trousers that battle Communism

my PG-rated hidden and therefore monstrous genitalia

my bawdy lucre-yellow shoes

so deaf to my jokes

your souls hardened like arteries