Not a blog about the science or practice of travel through books, but perhaps rather about science, practice and travel through books.


stars are bubbles of air

rising through an infinite

depth: we rise with them

through this dark, slow

motion snowfall in reverse

sleep through our ascent

bound at wrist and ankle

by the chains from silver

watches, anchors without

weight: even as we dream

we hold our breath against

the moment when we crash

up through the surface

tension, as though through

a sheet of glass, into still

another depth with other

stars, fragments of our

last collision in our wake

eyes shut tight, and every

mouth a photo of a scream

From Christian Bök’s Crystallography


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