This book of poetry —Willy Cicciari's first— is somehow a course, a notebook that tells us a way, accidents and signs in a direction. It repeats signals that speak of freedom, love, blood, memory, bridges, lavender, winds, travel, truth and lies. There is a tension between destiny and memory, between a past and its heritage as a hoax: it tells us that whom that does not leave the port will never discover anything.
 
This book is intimate, precious and brutal. As is a poetry book when it is full of truth. Willy Cicciari is direct, frontal and sincere. It does not hold measure. Yet he knows how to plan a course and put together a perfect travel plan ... even if he always defends drifting.

Autopublished