words don’t belong to me Images even less look down for roots nothing else than scattered bones to the best pieces of shrapnel, wine bottles and gall.  maybe they are up in the purified light of laurels seeds of regenerated angels stacked in piles way up before the riots. I cover the sidewalks different

The distance between them is almost zero In a frantic race in marathons where doping is banned They compete with one another Smashing records Always on the point of coming up with something new A fight taken seriously Engines running on diesel Head up and ready Legs bound in a crystal belt Wings always on [&hel

Away from the microscope Away from the scourge of censorshipExplain to us how an iron will dissolves in the face of hammer blowsAnd how the sun protects itself from heart attacksAnd how gardenias bloom on walls that breathe crushed concreteAway from the guardians of virtueSteer clear of the words that sever umb

*** for every day of loneliness we should get an extra day to live we would live so long that we would possibly become immortal today the sky looks like the seafoam small waves under soft caramel sweater under small rains under small shelters for all the streets with all the memories I put rouge […]

(Simon Robert Armitage) Ai doisprezece ani. Cel mult treisprezece.Ieși din casă pe ușa din spate.Mai ai timp. Ai promiscă nu întârzii, că nu te duci departe.Într-o zi vei afla numele copacilor.Cotești la stânga pe sub povârniș,o iei pe drumeagul dintre cele două pâraie.Pe-aici, Wool Clough. Pe din

În traducerea lui Leo Butnaru Orașul meu Scrâșnet și duduit de tramvai,Fierbinte, molatic asfalt,Strident te taie-n auz alVânzătorului de ziare alto ciudat. Pentru a citi tot articolul dă click aici.