Wakes up hungover and begins with two eggs,
tomato juice, three pieces of dry toast and black tea.
And he thinks of vomiting and vomits not. Mercury
growing ever hotter beneath his sagging collar
and removes the toga and wears no undergarments,
but a thin sheen of ultrablonde hair and clump
around the pubis. He thinks not of this enswadled
in his erstwhile cloudy lair (not loving to be among
humans). Visits the vomitorium to huff over the silver
basin and drip saliva; his warped face looking back
at him. And he wonders how this sickness gets worse
and not better.
