When I was twenty-nine and by myself
an image of Mickey Mouse came to me.
I was president of the world
and Mickey was my Secretary of Defense.
He was here to tell me that the seas
had turned to blood, which we knew
was a bad sign. I was about to ask
for more information when he spit
blood all over me and collapsed.
I got up and walked to the window,
and stood there with my hands clasped
behind my back. The moon was bright.