Work Text:
*
For a solid, brief moment
the cold breaths of his antagonist
strike bliss-imbued torment
the ghost of Dionysos Enyalios
rattled, defeated, unhinged -
Dionysos Enyalios
his hot-headed eloquence
laid-back flirtatiousness
immuered between styli and scrolls
Only the penultimate evil
(The thought made him quiver for a bit; a lightening of elation bashed down his spine: those who refuse to pay tribute to the psychopomp of Pluto shall wander the earth for another hundred years...)
Retorted the notorious prince of the East:
with an expression so exquisitely bland
do you not confess?
do you not recollect?
do you not see
the smouldering misdeed
dripping down your boney hands?
(“Our hands. You're in no position to deride, my noble ally. Sure you remember Bononia - ”
“Your adroit evasion! That's where lies my derision. You know quite well what I speak of - ”)
Beneath the sultriness
of the Alexandrian daystar
another crack on his thalia
Another act of hybris
another callous attempt -
offbeat to his serene, celestial pretense —
Did the goddess herself turn a blind eye?
One'd sit astounded, dumbfounded
as the favourite of Venus
challenged the Fates, defied the innate
at his enemy's death-march
gripping in hand Charon's obol
knuckles white —
(“Perhaps 'tis I who see through you after all. Behind all of this...
Imperator Caesar Divi filius Augustus - ”)
A name invidious, invincible
glazed, eccentric, glory and gold
thus the show proceeds
my fellow audience, lo and behold -
a new age per fumum!
A new age, they say?
A new age, indeed -
of peace, prehension, prayerful hums
lust-driven fascination, lewd abberation
coiled in the net of ruinous strums
(“How glorious! A toast, to fire, and the new age!”)
I merely deliver what is true -
are we not co-owners
to this house of furies and fools?
are our blood not confused
jumbled, entwined
from dawn to doom?
by Jupiter, who could've thought!
earth and sea become one
and the atrocities they've brewed!
(“Ever wished to escape, O prisoner of Rome?”)
Down, down, down
down with this haunted dusk
till the Styx meets Tiber
colossi burnt to dust -
tell them, O Thurine
tell them shadows on earth
who maunder and linger
o' how you turned the obol of Charon
into shackles
on your fourth finger
...
(“Why, my dear? There is no disgrace in suffering.”)
24 Jan 2021