We pierced some pastel blues in the sky, because you had no room to chase fairy tales. It was the story that broke the years between my words, the fear of an injured flute from that unusual god shielded in the bushes, creasing cathedrals. In the furrows your cloak, your nails of silence for love
to my father, in memoriam et amorem It was not necessary to open the latch, or neither to need to push the door, the slight breath of a guardian angel invited me to come in and let me know: the moment had arrived. Magically disappeared so many years of suffering and there
I have a disagreement with my girl She wants to live in another way I want to show her my way of life And what we can change in a single day. She wants to do something for herself But doesn’t know what it is In the meantime, I know what I want All
Every evening She goes through her blues Life for her has no meaning But she has the most wonderful shoes. She walks down the street And often lives in a panic But she listens only to her beat While she walks in Manolo Blahnik. This girl stands out from the crowd And nothin’
I don’t want an entrance into the emotional. I don’t want anything imposed and created with the prefix: must. It’s getting tiring, it almost is like some artificial kindness which we don’t even notice is happening because everything was reduced to superficiality. I don’t have to do anything. Nor what is imposed as a
Turbulent emotions You open the gates of a new day You secretly sense a revival. The chemical composition of consciousness He gets new evidence on seven trips around the Sun. Growth promises enlightenment. You are not a reflection in a mirror And the illusion painted. Whose experience are you looking for? Your task in this
am I really immersed in anything here but in a desperate land touched by a difference in lonely days in sleepy winks dreaming in an earthly space a mere doubt in the state of endless hopes connecting with you yet another living quintessence of the life–and-death balance is it really I who is divided acculturated
there are stories about the time spent with you too weak to be noticed within human chains in me there are words of wisdom too timid to be reflected in the wise of blue where the sentences of silence long to be listened to but barely stroke the highest branches of eucalypts as you always
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A true story “Dedicated to Lucia Annibali and violence against women” I heard of your name which means “shining”, as are the sunbeams in the morning, while looking into the tremor of the awakened earth, your face among words that wonder why. In your mirror, faithful, you told the restlessness, the moments of
The time curves outline ways to go, often unknown trajectories that make us vibrate emotions. Who knows if up there in the sky somewhere, hidden, there is a space devoid of madness where to stop without fear, anxieties and restlessness. The earth drawn by unknown geometries takes us back to the edge of
