Dionysus does drag on Wednesday nights
When the bar is quiet, populated by
Modern maenads in suits and t-shirts
Madness burning behind eyeglasses
and half empty happy hour margaritas
They hum hymns against abrasive bass lines
Pay out tabs and tips with wine stained dollar bills
Pray at a temple tucked between a strip club and an abandoned corking company
Hiding in a dark damp alley beside the gods of men-
The clouds of Olympus as fog on downtown brick.
Dionysus does drag with glitter on his lips
That sparkles off LED lights and pollutes his mouth with glamour,
Falling off his tongue like intoxication and
Dusting the silken gown that hugs his hips,
a hidden rite in a dark temple
Tantalizing and teasing, he mouths the words to a song
The world has long forgotten,
One whose melody once pervaded the spirit in hot heavy forests
in strained voices against skin and ecstasy-
An ancient mystery reserved for slaves and women.
Dionysus does drag on Wednesday nights
This pompous pageantry a parody of
He stitches the souls of audience members in his thigh
With a needle made of far off fantasy and thread crafted from fever dreams
The air sits thick with sweat and sweet wine,
During a performative climax.
Takes their breath and fashions it into
Pointed shellac nails and pink powder that smears over his cheeks-
It’s sparkling amethyst and blossoming vines
He turns their two dollar draft into to nectar,
showers the smoky stage with golden ichor,
Makes throats burn with prayer and cheap liquor
Sways hips and thrums hearts with sex and madness and the heady heat of heedless hedonsim
Dionysus serves reverent divinity to a dusty dive bar
Olympus is quiet on Thursday morning.
2087
kianamaiart
germansingergirl
jacobvanloon
janainaart
areudirty
turnnoffyourmind
snowghoul
