87.

In these tunnels I have found nothing
But the same siren-songs sluicing softly,
Oozing out of my ears, my own adventures
A curse impossible to live up to, a chain.

I am Marco Querini: a liar. A prescriber of
intoxicants, a smuggler of broken dreams.
I have travelled far and wide to escape
The shadow of my father, his judgement.

88.

My boast is that I have killed my best friend,
I have feasted in his blood, triumphed over
His clay’d over body, mastering its poison,
Surrounded by powerful allies, now exiled.

I claim my vengeance in these dungeons,
I can see it as clear as day, looking down
The parapet of my Venetian high mansion,
In the alley below, the corpse of my enemy.