By Way Of His Chili-Peppered Tongue Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Snakes leap like dogs,
Comics & games at my bare feet.
After one a.m. Everything has changed and
Real, except for the cops. I think
About fu*king my aunt every chance I get.
Ants bivouac between my toes. Copper-headed
Serpents, bearded try to sell me apples
On my way to the plastic bathroom draped
By the crumble of concrete irrigation, and
Florida Holly. Just last week, robbers got away
With the till from the sub shop- I suppose,
They are still hiding out in the latrine: I cover their
Heads with immaculate worms, as I c%ck my own,
Lilting backwards like a marvelous captain and saying
A wish: I slide down, just like the banister on her
Wedding in that rustic museum: Her husband is
A cripple, but I fill her up, her nightgown like the hood
Of that car, chromed with incest or that creative
Dysfunction which moves these lines anonymous,
Troughs the depths of the fermented mind, even as galaxies
Pinwheel and do their thing, until I too am done,
And stepping back into sleep have to listen to the little Mexican
Boy Pedro call me a fagg%t by way of his chili-peppered tongue.