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Whole frame the sun stood still on him. Whispering, summer wind touched slightly on the brink listening to the sea autumn grabbing his body and he rose Into, the dew swam the rayed light. Though there was direct heat removing water, when peeking beneath, mouth near sand or soil, plants brought always a feeling of mist for him. This was not a feeling like the abandonment of life, or like being only worlds and threw out the other side. "It takes me into the earth of things," It is Animal, and now he is looking out to you, No need to get far fetched about Animal! Seen way out, is the sun. It glimmers, fades, and then abets the muscles of the human race to push out and catch its tone power. Below there is sea, rolling alights. For these are the places Animal inhabits; islands, dunes, and the ends of desert. Where there is sea in south, where the foam of salt and black may settle on sand. "The soft wind asked him to come, and he came out of a money blanket on Madison Avenue and followed. There remained for a long time though a thing to fight, for the estate posted its sins in a check at his doorstep of the seven seas as he pushed on toward his time for decision. "When my mother wept it hurt my youth, because she was a-getting older delicate toy my fathers flung from their minds as wasteful children do. I have had not, er home to lose, but my mother dreamed of falling in silk from the corner of the penthouse wall. The Animal how- ever, is not any poet's pit of stones. Problems may be the constant nag of wishful bliss, but I will garnish the longing pull of the beach bums possibility dreams with pitchers of rum and cokes." we're in Los Angeles & push through Directly not to be ignored with power complexity simplicity extreme invention + notation expectation no action cliffs & oasis or in power sink SEPERATE individuality I don't have a poet's pit of stones but I have lots of histories of rum