Dance Nocturne

Dance Nocturne August night is an abyss hotter than the day and the wind that blows was born in hell. From open windows and their dark interiors the primal scream of lovemaking, wriggling bodies trying to produce a child that like them soon will die, but first it has to go to the ritual called love, which is but a primitive urge to copulate the planting of a seed before sinking back underground, spent, forgotten in mass graves of boredom, decorated with flowers that radiates deaths to come. The Tasmanian tiger howls to the moon and forever vanishes into an ancient forest while werewolves sway to a Mexican dirge.