The Volume of Agents

On the table, as pieces of paper,
every action of ours
and their worth in acting:

the exchange value of existence

an echo
screamed out in
the unpropagable vacuum
of extent

Translation by Eleonora Matarrese of  my poetry: “Il Volume degli Agenti”

All is poetry

Every time
in these four walls
there is my squared being
under its own astonished horizon

it watches the low energy dawn
of the incandescent lamp
and straight after
the electric sunset
bricked up by a click