Landscape November 26, 2014 12:33:23 PM – 12:34:34 PM

Where does ruined language want to go? When I read a boring poem, I read a boring poem and it struck me: The summer was quite all right after all, autumn and winter. And down through the skin to the bones, glittering-glittering, and through the bones until darkness merges with marrow. I had fallen out of a spotted sleep and into a deep melancholy and now I drove on through the sorrow of the landscape. Sentences are an ocean.