in nights like this he would just drink
 in the dark
 and smoke
 and lie on his side and
 hallucinate
 about a snake vomiting vibrating colors
 on a white wall
  
 Maybe the snake had eaten paint
  
 But it was a small snake
 no bigger than a worm
 and the amount of dancing colors it vomited
 all over was astounding
  
 Enough to paint the whole house
  
 But the colors would never
 stay on the things they fell upon
 The colors would
 bounce around and dance and vibrate
 mingle with each other and
 part and mix again
  
 and the small snake would vomit some more
 and it would make a sound
 like babies crying
  
 All he wanted in times like these
 was to crawl over to the poor snake
 and comfort it in some way
 pat its head, place it in his armpit
 to get warm, feed it something, rub its
 belly up and down and around
  
 But the little snake
 wouldn't come his way
  
 Not even after he split the inside of
 his forearm from
 wrist to elbow to invite it
 into his flesh
  
 "Fine then," he said. "Stand there
 and vomit until you
 die. We'll still be together one day
 whether you like it or not…" 

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