He sleeps inside a burlap sack
A clothes peg on his nose.
He gathers rusty carpet tacks
To scatter for the crows

One hand erect, the other hangs limply
One could suspect this man is just simply

The greatest Flamen Dialis in the world

He breaks his fast on stainless steel
And dines on sunlight soap
He sits on piles of orange peel
To wink at passing Popes

One eye is closed, the other is winking
One could suppose the man is just sinking

The greatest Flamen Dialis in the world

He wears a red straitjacket when he's picking blackberries
He vomits in a packet which he sells as liturgies

One finger cocked, the other is wagging
One would be shocked to see him sagging down

He's just the greatest Flamen Dialis in the world