Dance Of The Wolves

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