The purple-clad prince rose
like a goat capering gaily down the slopes
of the golgothean mount,
dripping and trembling, he was brought up from the river
by the hand of the baptizer clad in animal pelts,
face smeared with pale clay and Kronian trinkets hanging off him,
jangling in the wind.
The man howled like one swollen with wine and rushed raging into the desert wilderness,
chased by the ghostly hooves of the circuit-riding judge who tests the heart in flames.
He offered him the world – all he had to do in return was bend the knee.
Instead the man chose to swing from the lunatic tree
in order to give the souls below crowns of flowers
and wine as their fortunate reward.
He staggered out of the frigid maze,
aflame for the bull-horned lord of the double door
and the dove-maiden held out a bunch of plump grapes
in her bone-white hands and beckoned him to eat, to rejoice.
Tagged: dionysos
