Does Scabies Itch Worse After They Are Dead?

subtle melancholy

occupying the bottom of that heart sweating,

you know it's yours.

If you could drive away the thorn in the side, that merciful veil of mourning past and present, that line of weeping women

A song without flowers, lifeless nails it!

If quartered the swamp of blood

with large knives

and I could buy you all a piece of life,

I could laugh with his teeth,

I look with eyes only.

Death

The rustle of your bad breath is the poisoned blade of a knife that is like a sentence on our heads and the wind whistles

And laughs

of our go spastic looking for the solution.

Muse or enemy

Want relegated between rows of marble,

soggy turf

flames faded and fading

the stench of bodies abandoned.

Your kingdom is not made of flowers, crumpled into tears and rain, is the heart of a man without shoes in hand.

siren blue as lightning in the night, screaming and trembling.

1996 Bonair Tenttrailer

... Sometimes I see in September ... Pink flowers

We will wait another few weeks before the official presentation of the novel Naked in Falconara Marittima, at the headquarters of the cultural Van Gogh's Ear, with the presence of the author.

Can A Thumb Spur Be Removed At The Doctors

interview (part two)

Who is primarily intended for this book? Persons related to this matter in various ways, or to all women in general?

do not mean to be a sign of anyone living or propaganda. These are just my ideas written on paper.

You have chosen a narrative in which the complaint have preferred the approach to life. Why? Why

there is nothing to report and plenty to think about.


How long did it take you to write the book?

between writing by hand pounding, corrections, and postings about twelve months.

What started your vocation of writing?

I have always cultivated her passion for writing since childhood, then as often happens, life has kept me away from a part of me. Then I had to face myself and suffer to see if I can really write. This helped and I was obliged to say a person who stopped me to hide behind a finger.