“You did not know me,” Dionysus said,
“when you should have,” and proceeded to fuck
things up. I get that. Gods of rage and dread
aren’t that welcome at the office potluck,
either. But, just once, perhaps, a mellow
bacchanal would be pleasing; a laid-back
debauch with odd friends. Sadly, those I know
do not know me that well. I’m a shy Zack.
I lisp, stutter. People make me nervous;
I like quietude and sloth … except when
eldritch horrors possess me, when I rain
fire and salt the earth after. That luscious
violence when I’m not me; so I must, then,
be you, raving, both bullet and bloodstain.