Friday, March 8, 2024

How The Windows Fall Silent by Giulio Maffii

The droplet falls at a right angle - we are all invaded - but the story isn't about this

How the windows fall silent the droplet falls at a right angle

- we are all confused - but the book isn't about this

How the wounds fall silent, every dispersion scrapes the patience of olives, and the

boy doesn't apply himself

How the wounds fall silent and moreover no one has seen -no one ever sees- a

deception life that awaits us without generic warnings of danger or sanctity

They fall silent like wounds then they crinkle fold into pockets leap like a tiger

instinctively toward the last surviving man in the shopping mall

They fall silent like windows and you don't recognize the inside from the outside

the glass from the void of air the manual from the instructions

in another language the magic of photo editing

The windows fall silent on the edge of evening in the barycenter of balance between

revealing the secret or enclosing the family within a quiz

How people fall silent

You will never be people neither glue nor nervous lines the autism of self while

deserting from yourself we take note we make a list

Do you put life among useless things?

It falls silent like people where did you vanish? neither how nor why questions in

tables and a layout of nails surnames wobble and mix

Where did you all disappear to?

People how they fall silent or poison themselves dancing and hurl silences into their

ears the important thing is Sunday cleaning the important thing was your lives the

manual of destruction

From the side of the bed you give outlines within every sky that refuses to open

We are slaves to overflowing drawers mounted upside down

slipknots mothballs and a similar date for everyone

The bed on one side the importance of roots -discovery on a bed-

A line bender fake plagiarist inventor

This is the world this is the earth this is the story roots and plagiarisms

Pity traversed us in smaller shoes in the to-do list but where were you all?

The last time within the faint light of phosphorus

Let yourself be embraced by the deceit of forgiveness by the noonday fire in your chest

They've made you a prisoner They've made you

Shattered every encounter from skies so akin to gods yet always queued in the love between cars

and traffic lights

The fire sets the windows ablaze our fertility unyielding filling rooms with open legs.

Perhaps it's not the places it's the objects that tell us never to forgive to endure the unknown of

producing imitation

Let no one be too alive now or erased by us Of all words perhaps gestures will remain maybe cats

Here lies the mistake of emptiness that the mournful foresee tomorrow

but behind us- behind - a beast's hook in the back pierces the chest -the symbol of the news bulletin-

But you cry you cry - surely pretending - and recount the void there in front

They meet in the dark side of halls confusing what is and what you see

What you pass off as pain is merely canned food long-lasting lies


Suddenly the snow the body seeks its way

Had we told each other the truth it would have happened sooner

and we keep on observing the tennis player's secret elbow


Giulio Maffii was born in Florence (Italy). His studies are dedicated to poetry (linear-experimental-visual) and its diffusion. He wrote essays and books of poetry. He was featured in New York's magazine "Arteidolia" and in “Expanded field journal”(Amsterdam) . He collaborates with “Bubamara Teatro” Theater Company.