I've got a cookie cutter
shaped historically like the head
of Felix the cat and he
doughs me out days like
we're both from the forties.
As the TV blinks disco,
Spanky winks that's thirty years ago.
My Betty Boop tie implied the twenties.
More money, more frosting. Like
that's all we need?
Because some times I'm swamped
in night you know. Black and white
reels and the radio, was the only
substantial sound. Those people
now are in the ground.
They'd been out created, by their
own ink nightmare. He's strutting to
fears, galvanizing new gray hairs,
years that pass fast as an
'Till I suck colored wind,
in the cartoon flow, losing
track of the winnings, or
left to go.