In the forest clearing
In the urban warehouse
In the suburban living room
The Bakkhants meet
They pour out water and wine for the land, for the dead
And they call Them in
In rush the Maenads, Thyone dancing among them
In rush the Satyrs, Silenus staggering and weaving among them
Their stomping feet clear the floor, wheeling dance defines the edge
The Bakkhants pour a cup and offer a plate to Them
Crying Euhoi and dancing with Them
And that mortal space sprouts immortal life
In stalks the panther, in slides the snake
In grow the ivy and the grape, in walks the Starry Bull
All is riot of life irrepressible
In comes Ariadne of the Starry Crown, with her Maenads attending
In comes Dionysos of the Feast, with amphora ever-full
They take the thrones prepared for Them, and the revelry truly begins
The Bakkhants pour out wine to Them, and offer them the best of the feast
Singing the names of their Undying guests
And offering their cups to receive the God’s gift
Seen in double vision, with eyes of flesh and eyes of fire
Carpet, concrete, bare dirt overlaid with Her ancient dancing ground
Walls, rafters, fire-pit and trash-bin overgrown with His leafy vines
All fetters fall away, all chains are broken
Heavy masks are set aside, naked faces shine
Skins are shed, soft new flesh bathed in oil and wine
Naked-souled the Bakkhants dance, mortal and undying together
Claws and wings and horns unbound from shrouds of mundane life
And secret monsters offered up, sacred chimerae made holy in Their presence
Alive, in joy of flesh and feast, souls aflame with rare ecstasy
Alive, despite the narrow lanes laid from birth to death
Alive, remembering the eternal feast yet to come
Ariadne arises from Her throne, her Maenads rise with Her
Dionysos arises from His throne, shoulders His amphora
They depart the dancing-ground, as the feast winds down
Out the panther, out the snake, out the Starry Bull
Out the leaves, out the vines, out the ancient sands
Sleepy lids close the eyes of fire
Thyone calls a new hunt, Drawing the Maenads away
Silenus, dreaming adrift on tides of wine, by Satyrs carried away
Carpets and concrete, fire-pits and trash bins cover the subtle world
The Bakkhants pour out water and wine
Crying farewell to Them, giving thanks to the land and the dead
And gather up their fetters, their shrouds and their skins
Once more into the ways of mortal life, on the entropic march
Ever aflame, the true self within dances toward the eternal feast
Leaving vines in their tracks, living a life irrepressible
In the forest clearing
In the urban warehouse
In the suburban living room
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