When Artists Go Bad by John Kotula
While passing through The Albuquerque airport I saw Caravaggio in chains; Thick ones on his wrists, Thin ones that tinkled Around his ankles Hobbling his stride. He was being transported By [...]
While passing through The Albuquerque airport I saw Caravaggio in chains; Thick ones on his wrists, Thin ones that tinkled Around his ankles Hobbling his stride. He was being transported By [...]