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”

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

*foto by jmarx (click for others)

A picture leaf
cries
dew of sunset
crying
by the sky.

You wet
my leaves
cause the sunset
is dew of crying
of the sky
in a picture

*foto by jmarx (click to view others)

The others
don’t touch me:

let me fall.

no memories
no sounds
no smells

i remember
only the rumble
on the asphalt
of my body

*foto by jmarx (click to view others)

Water
just an instant before
becoming, in a name, waterfall
mirrors its personal
choice to vaporize
a swirl towards the old stoned bed
which shape, even the next instant, it will follow
as it’s proper of a river flowing while becoming
dissolving only the very illusion in choice
with closed up eyes, puzzled
in the last stifled breath,
from its short vacuum,
to the next pounce.

©JmArX (Andrea Lucheroni)

English translation by Eleonora Matarrese to my italian version Untitled

*foto by me

that return was
without arrival

everything was
alone
in a memory

the sun is setting
too many times

©JmArX (Andrea Lucheroni)

foto by me

click here to see others

Any
raindrop
in that sunbeam,
any

the wind only
at the sunset
stops

don’t breath

we’re just a detail
- hard to hide -

©JmArX (Andrea Lucheroni)

English translation by Eleonora Matarrese to my italian version Vivere