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At The End Of My Travels

  • Daniel Viragh
  • Sep 14, 2023
  • 1 min read

Updated: Oct 7, 2023

I came upon you, empty city:

I didn’t even know your name.

I knew your streets were coarse, but pretty;

your steeple had basked in red-hot flame.


I preyed upon your altar, then:

your cobblestones, I ate with the spiderwebs.

I marched upon your open palazzos,

with steel toes and minuets.


I would’ve drank from your fountains, two:

too bad I didn’t bring a cup.

I bathed in your sunlit gardens;

and your prisons, I shook them up.


Your brothels and your cigarettes,

I carved into the hollow of my skin.

I took a dab of oyster juice,

for the port, and the sea, within.


I tarried longer by the market:

in its autumn, I espoused a feast.

I wanted olives for the baker;

all I managed was dry yeast.


Evening came, and then I scurried:

I was swept away by glove-dealers, astride.

My carcass, they dropped a bridge, it under;

but my songs, they hummed with pride.


*


From "At The End Of My Travels" by Daniel Viragh

All Rights Reserved.

I Went Back

I went back to the site of my own desecration and I returned, what little, I had found. I saw some unadorned crosses, and violence, and...

 
 
 

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Daniel Viragh

Canadian Poet and Singer

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