Top party city?
Not Rio, not Newcastle,
A centuries-long ballo en maschera. Look through
The lace mask of the Bridge of Sighs, at the boned
Bodices and crinolined cupolas of San Marco,
Santa Maria della Salute's hooped skirt. The city
Is a party! Down the Grand Canal's blue carpet,
Every palazzo is a big, Oscar-night frock, gilded
Pink and peach, taffeta and tulle, voile and velvet;
White braid balusters, windowbox corsages. Trailing
Muddied hems with superb aplomb, these shameless
Beauties carry their peeling stucco like finest
Devoré. What is a dress, but a mask for the body?
What is a building, but a mask for the many? Mists
Of chiffon veil the canals, steel-sharp gondolas pin
Their satin ribbons. Bells swing their shining skirts,
Dancing music over the city like glitter dust.