Homo Disneyana

Lopes through the litterscape

Of the late Anthropocene

Leaving a trail of 

discarded identities

From whose throes arises

An army of the maimed.

Disneyana stands, turns,

Proclaims their creed as 

a counter-curse: “I

can be anything I want!”

But the spectres unimpressed

Crowd forward and

The pursuit begins. 

II

Scrolling through the screenscape

Of the early thanatocene

Disneyana hopes a void 

To echo their vacuity… 

But the stardust drifts 

into disturbing shapes

Almost as if there were a mind…

Jabbing out the cosmos,

They ram in their earbuds

And grab for a safer app - 

“I’ll catalogue my selfies!” -

Not to hear the Voice, 

Not to see the Face:

“I can be anything I want,” 

“Except Yours.”

III

Saints Walt and Jeff, Saint Mark and Saint Elon

Are gathered round the bed they lie upon.

They’re watching every flicker of their eyes

And planning means by which to monetise

Each moment of their rapt attention.

As they perform their daylong adoration

Before the glow of their iconostasis

Their saints have greedy looks upon their faces.

Some think they are the guardians of their soul

Some think that they intend to eat them whole.