a big mistake becomes improvisational ritual

sometimes nothing sometimes loneliness

the structures arranged in space years ago

just doing nothing across the boundaries that bend and mis-use

these sacred places in need of experience set apart from language

the formal traditions of the highway

(that place can lend the entire earth new significance)

the monumentality of longing between words

some sort of exercise with no predetermined intention

a certain day searching guidelines

a long time attempting to know nothing

just a mistake softened in green spaces

histories of labour, of use and mis-use

the centre the holy act of forgetting

the road decays in the space of tire tracks, this road is only 2 miles

are your working hours frustrating?