Tuesday 14th June, 2016
Versailles for the starving ones,
with their dream of waking up inside an open shop.
Lights. Not a single bird though.
Only the flamingos (and a lone crow skidding
under wheel, two miles beyond the strip
where the radiation lingers.)
Back in Venice water appears: a canal glinting turquoise,
a clean, silent Venice. No stones just gilt:
the eye's favourite layer. Mirrors on the ceiling,
decorating dancers. Have you seen David the regicide,
illuminated by slot machines? And Telemachus.
Meanwhile, up the strip, David's friend Canova revels
in the softness of plastic. Not the Psyche
you might recognize, the other group, standing,
the bride looking down holding a butterfly
in Caesar’s Palace. Canova, a Venetian,
would like this place. Certainly more than David.