Saturday, December 02, 2006


In narrow slits,
wind the canals of Venice,
their cavernous air recoiling
thickened assassinations
on a million rare spices
swept under loose-rimsy paddles -
my swarthy gondolier.

Who navigates the tenderloin
of eclipsed youth -
sucked beneath the vibrant maelstrom
in cultured threads,
the sauce and soup of rusted private lives,
fishing in vane
for that postcard Italy-
half told above the watermark.
But to mingle - at length

under blue-veiled arteries
by corrupted moonlit
drains these obscurities of time.
The cracklin’ flicker by candlelight
casts appalling shadow-dances
into each halfway lit modest courtyard,
where Valentino once discovered
his sudden whores
transformed to Rivoli sprites
most wondrous - enraptured
Toscanini screams -
the peril of their pear-shaped magic-love tones
mostly buried now,
teased under beautiful sewers -
this waterlogged paradise.
@Nick Zegarac 2006 (all rights reserved).


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