Gorgon awoke again to anotherDay of mirrorless solitude.A day of arranging dead flowers by touch,Drinking sour milk,And slicing mouldy bread.Each hour of each same dayFollowing the same loopAround her bland cave,Avoiding the cluttering statuesOf memories enshrined into stone.But, what fresh days! When the windActual moved through her locky pitOf fiendish friends, heckling one another,In chain…