Murder on the grand canal

Amongst the hidden city,
amid the spires, of cathedrals drowned
her soul swims, amongst shadows,
weeping tears,
cried, upon fresh water canals.
To seek an essence to behold,
the great gondolier.
Insipid ghosts of trickling, sweet chandeliers.
For the bridge of Vercai
where you chose to hang her
in an evangelical world,
whore to the pause of apprehends
an operatic throat, choked, and did die.
of all the masked ball,
with white foundation, cried
my funny valentine, sweet cosmic,
presumption to pine,
Her fathers face,
every crack, every line
of repetitiveness ordnance ,disguising the devil of
a long nosed, hidden treasure.
He raped the tourist, on his boat
the velvet covered chair
that allowed him to gloat.
Who would expect the opera singing, unshaven man,
to abuse the lace laden courtesan.
As passing ships sailed
passengers wept
amongst the harshness of the baritone
killed and decent.
they cut the body down,
frills and all
the gorgeous spine
contorted, did fall.
The I scream vendor
she was a princess of Venice
a Venetian deplored
her very last tear, fell
in, to the carnal,
her last blood let,
be gone and be damned.
It is such, an intimidating excuse,
His forsooth, becomes banal
yet the breath of this year
its hold on, this murder, this rape
inhaled,
upon the grandest canal.

M J Martin