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