When they get drunk they get stupid
but when I get drunk I get oracular
because I know the Lord Dionysos,
redolent of cloves, crushed grapes and bittersweet.
Yes, I know your sweet longing.
There is nothing you can hide from me.
I’ve experienced it all before. That’s what mystery means.
The revelation of Bakchos in the forest,
the mournful maiden wandering
with the head of the beautiful youth in her hands.
It doesn’t matter what name you hail him by,
he will respond if your desire is strong
and pure enough,
the witchy rites performed properly.
The cult of ecstasy
and desire gratified
is all that matters,
the consummation of the trees and the pool
where the lamb is drowned
for the sake of a promise rashly made
that brought into existence
the phallos and the dance of the maidens
around the wine-press
during the winter nights
when the breezes are strong enough
to flay the skin from oxen.
Hail Bromios,
lord of the waters
and the rotting fruit that intoxicates.
where words grow like leaves
As someone who occasionally does oracular work under the auspices of a very different God, YES.