#*dionysos

[poetryandarete]

[poetryandarete]

Hymn to the Quarantine Undoing (turns out it was a dissociative episode whoops)

Hello Operator?

Yes - which god do I speak to About the fact that I am losing myself? Is it quarantine? I am crooked I have always known I am crooked, too strange too wrong, Sloping out of shirts, hunching in seats, Every straight line I have ever drawn has always sloped No matter how hard I try to fix it I have always been queer; just enough to make people uncomfortable but not enough to raise suspicion

I was joking, okay? About the changeling thing Sure, I was eerily still as an infant; ate incessantly Drove my mother crazy with my silent eyes Ate leaves and mud, chewed on household objects, swallowed buttons Silent, suckling, staring Counting the taps on my school desk throughout high school biology, humming at anyone I did not know

I am telling you now – If I was cursed in that Greek tragedy way If I was left in the reeds for some unfortunate wretch to find (sorry, Mum) End my misery or tell me how to properly become – ! I am crawling out of my skin I do not recognize my ribs or the fissures of my skull I have become intently aware that the thing I have rode inside for the past 29 years is not me It is a facsimile. What do I do now? Who do I crawl into now? How do I roll this silent suckling staring thing into the bog and be rid of it? I do not want to command it anymore, get me OUT

Okay Operator, you can hang up now? I don’t know why I called in the first place I have always seen him in the background, out the window, in the forest, at the bottom of the bottle I am just stir-crazy enough to throw myself at the bull, this time. He has waited for me to come back and now I am here and I am crazed, itching out of my skin It is only when I am desperate like this that he speaks to me

[poetryandarete]

Hymn to Dionysus and His Goddamn Mysteries

I am a scholar and you drive me insane I pick apart literature and curse my lack of Greek I see you scurry over pages and hide in footnotes I see others claiming you were somewhere you were not (Or were you? Now I'm not sure) Was Thebes in Egypt? Or on Hellas shores? Was Zagreus you or were you Zagreus? Lord, every time I ask a question about you I come away with twenty questions

You give me the cosmic run around in the worst and best ways:

Last night I dreamt of a revolving restaurant high in the sky The sweet and sour pork on the buffet scrambled As I chased children off the tablecloths While you watched and laughed and laughed and laughed At the chaotic orchestration of it all I am three chapters into a book about you and you give me nothing But questions and prophetic Chinese food dreams

My prayers to you will never stop ending in a question mark