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  • so this is bacchus real name antonio tony to his friends
    mr. a to his young disciples. he's less swarthy than i thought
    he would be. he's not italian or greek and he effects a certain continental
    know-how over his bare feet which he wishes were in slippers.
    the grapes are muy bueno but
    his knowledge of the wine is not so good.
    he's not sure whether to pluck them off or twist them with
    his fingertips. wasn't there supposed to be someone dropping
    them delicately into his open mouth? he thought the
    green would taste different from the purple
    but they all taste vaguely like grass and melons.
    he knows he was raised for this gig but its tough
    when you walk down one side of the street and the women
    cross over to the other. is this the frenzy he was promised?
    he just wants to sit in his leopard skin fauteuil and
    maybe nap maybe not but stop
    thinking about words like wine, squash, mad, and bachanal.
    he wants new words, calmer words
    like junket, forestall, and palate.
    yes he's older but then he'll die and come back
    as a baby named charlene and have to
    wait it out all over again, this time as a woman.
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