Neither lit lamp nor prayer replace this dark exhibition of a graveyard. Alas, Guernica, tongues as sharp pieces, sharp shattered shards of broken blades. An eye-shaped bulb does not the red reflect two-fisted grips of death-like hands. Alas, Guernica, hands with monstrous bent, sharps caused by strafing fusillade. Winds of war and arrows blown through…
Taurus of Man By Linda Imbler
