among the granaries of sleepI burnwhere such variety of picturesI enjoy no pleasure in the sight of themthe greatest plenty turnsto absence in my hands
A picture pushes youAside Your coat trailsIn the wind You pickYourself up out of aBunch of snaps andMove along TrafficIs thick Day dryThe tune sounds likeIt's coming from aLot of places in theRoom That's a funnyTune You are onOne of the wavesOpening the water
Many years agothe sea in the picturethe days vastvaguepartialmid sportsas never werethe leaves' tidefloats autumna timethe foregroundso clearwicker chairthe individualwoman in ita hat some
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