Sleep-pieces, wedges
driven into nowhere:
we remain constant,
steered round,
the star
concurs.

Paul Celan, from Glottal Stop, trans. Nikolai Popov and Heather McHugh 

yama-bato:

http://www.physorg.com/news/2010-12-feathers-ideas-gloss.htm

(via callmehats)

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