Saturday, March 1, 2008

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an evening dedicated to MELANCHOLY



transcribe here, a piece of the great IVAN GRAZIANI page and dedicate it to him tonight.




"There was the moon on your balcony murdered violets I was there, as a cingomma stuck to the door. The bitter mouth, a sneeze, but how many beers I have never swallowed the bar is closed, the world is dumb, I'm an orphan, disowned ... Life, life, and that it not be said that I did not I ever lived life, life, you're my life too different you would love, life ... For the homeless, chosen host , I dedicate all of me I still feel so close, a hawk on the Apennines. Ah, the poetry, that damn loudly shouted in a doorway of the elementary insights and heads against the wall, healthy ... Yes, life, life, and that it not be said that I did not I ever lived life, life, you are my life than even you'd love ... Life, life, and that it not be said that I did not I ever lived life, life, you're my life, otherwise you also should love life, but I'd love you differently ... "




Hello Ivan! forever.


------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------


E. .. TALK OF BACI ...




I present my own poetry in the book the red cover, Caffe 'AND IS


together with a painting of his friend Robert Matarazzo describing the tenderness of the kiss ...


I want to offer a preview of our cooperation "poeticopittorica" \u200b\u200bthat will carry forward even when we go into space POESIABLU CREATIVE The uterus of IS.


'll be waiting with your poems, with the participation of you all the poems on the way!! We will give voice to our pens, we will give color and sound.


I embrace blue.


Divine






LIPS ARE MOVING SO KISSES

I found the contact you want to kiss me nell'irresistibile
of lights where the background paper absorbed
stomach
eye and the moon fall into the sea s' appropriated
of the night ... the music was turned over to the beach sound real
stole place to heaven I
painter of sunsets you
the sun of my days .... The bite
dawn brought us the bitter pain of Africa
the wind whispering voices
only the mute lips of red

wet and wild
moved more kisses ...

(time ever had)



Divinafollia

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