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On the island Curaeal rests the whore house Happy Valley, where at the end of steps laid to hillside the white mans burden lies fallow. High a drunk too and dawn at mild murmur loving brown bodies to ends of counterdiction. Animal with the chief telling; " at least your sister does not have to live with the snow;" But then we all appreciate love. But it was Nassau where people and buildings are proper, that he walked out on the void back beyond his ancestors and decided to name the self of him Animal. Lightly! Maybe Scarsdale of shade trees and stones; walking curves to Sycamore hills. His fathers were structure; or lightfooted yet with candy, or maybe just servants to their heritages. With Animal it was a life in which the feeling body disappeared rather then become the brother of his fathers. To find out what he had to do with what left him empty; like the actor going down to the audience in a switched psychic and stopping the performance. It was the face of a black seer child passing through his water glass that cleared his head. Sound appeared in his throat; Tightened the jaw, and left the ear singing. A steady buzz, not like the wall coming as pierce, but buzzed in like the clamor for something to happen. The smell of sex with salt shot up against all the pain of life like the force behind a vision; Driving with the ability to excuse as his nose split the line of control and guided the freedom of winding out to a sun dashed by making motive into turn on the run, as in bounding back out at the edge of immense light in a return to whence he had begun. Footprints in the sand have smoothed with fill of ocean rolling back. The sun just beginning follows out to first shadow a clear white line rising harmonious to blue. Another sea; The enrapture of it bringing red volcanic earth into face with sky. Everywhere layers