Poem By Paolo Ruffilli

Yes, the wonderful colours
of video,
the pleasant random choosing,
sipping, savoring
the flavour of soft dessert.
Grasping life
seasoned before,
pre-chewed and digested like this.
Surrendering to the game
of statues, to the neutral glossy
in which
nothing really exists any more,
at a distance
that entertains
only for that little bit
that one is touched by it.
The same prearranged fantasy,
outside itself, hatched,
hypnotized, melted down.
The water
is held back no longer
it's a surge that floods, drowns,
swallows you down.

Translation:James Laughlin

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Other poems of RUFFILLI


Thus, I suddenly
catch myself in the mirror
in a stifling embrace
while I project myself


I know what I have felt
again and again
and never has it been
something abstract


And all at once
deep in the tunnel
that goes on and on,
in the dead air

Whenever I Go

Then, at last
I get moving
the urge to stay


How many times
have I left
before daybreak or
at dead of night


I think of myself
whose hand caresses
the willing body
lying open to any assault