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  • dead air becomes alive when
    warm whirling columns of air
    - miniature tornadoes -
    set the horns to singing
    and the harmonies swell

    semi-tones dissonant electric tension
    spasmodic body convulsions and eyes screwed tightshut
    wild insane hair shiny with sweat whips through the
    noise ripping up the world

    and there's a wolf in your stomach that's hunting
    hunting for the sound
    hunting for the pounding rhythm
    an insatiable hunting wolf sniffing the air
    for the wolves in everyone else

    until resolution
    that screeching dissonance modulates to dolce chords
    so infinitely rich and deep
    they resonate with the lamenting howl
    of your wolf

    jerking arms relax and flow into
    gooey dripping melodies
    so viscous they get stuck to your sweaty skin
    and pool at your restless feet

    and there's nothing in the world like
    when all the wolves howl
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