September 30, 2016


Venezia, you lied to me.
Lazy water, coquetry,
sliding boats, that embrace
you said was ours, half-hidden place,
half the painters painted upside-down,
whoring, incestuous town,

Venezia, Venezia, you moored us together
with crimson crepe paper,
all the while you knew you would take her.
Vain, lying, jealous bitch,
architecture, water, sky, I don’t know which is which is which.

Venezia, laughing city,
filthy, touristy,
I beg the sea to take you.
You lied about the size of the moon.
You draped facade upon facade
as though running for your life, Scheherazade,
Joseph Goebbels, lights on the water,
Byzantium’s daughter.
Scheming, faithless sewer of shit and blood,
you told me that she loved.

Don Zirilli

Donald Zirilli is the editor of Now Culture and has been writing poetry for the past thirty years.