Twelve thirty five three shots ring out. The Presidents been hit. He's dying, no doubt. A ghost stares down at the Motorcade. Another clutches his throat as lifesblood is splayed. Their drama plays out at Dealy Plaza Without the blood or the Dura mater. A great Man murdered, A vision gone November twenty Second Fifty Years on
Tomorrow in Dallas there will be a gathering and a moment of silence to recall the ****** of a President