Cornada

Behold! Black wind b(el)low before me, all dressed up but not so pretty. Now shaking now steady, a stolid spavined gypsy, little more than a serge and a bundle of cripple and twist feet. Hold this thing's a coming, a wet bicep in its back, stones in its scrotum, a splinter-knuckled punch, a pelt-upholstered engine. Mingle and part then some sinister regard. (sinister regard, gust of wind) Disclosed! Discovered! Tossed! Shoveled and paraded aloft the crowd, a collective pall above a split horse spilling straw. From this angle, I see it all- life, death, truth, beauty