Mens European Style Swimwear

ON-STREET

The homeless
De-am-bu-lan

As I sleep and I eat as I

clothed as I was crying as I


share the same space
big tent, leaky
morning silence that surrounds us

ambulation
Ian laughs off

fallen trees
or will be reversed

arropante
Mother Nature gives us all suck to wake up my body

Head down, legs, looking at the sky Looks

Men complicit with them all the pain Hosts


I like watching them in front

gods of all ages scattered through the city

to see if we recognize


Just for today © Lucille Lang Sunday, September 6, 2009

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The sheet

I open my mouth in a loud yawn, I stretch the arms extending and legs. I'm cold. With eyes still closed, look for the edge of the sheet, halo and halo, unable to bring it to me. Total, much effort and I feel hot and try to open my eyes.
- How am I going to wake up? I tell myself as I move to the edge of the bed that seems far, far away. I remember as a child I always liked Alice in Wonderland, as Alice had shrunk from taking the bottle labeled "DRINK ME." - Have I taken from the same bottle?

I lean and close my eyes. Back to yawn and I think I'm in that state between awake and asleep, that vague space where dreams still seem to reality. While I try to remember what I did last night before going to bed. "Nothing, nothing special, as usual, I waited and I waited until I fell asleep.

With eyes still closed, I listen as he gets up and enters the bathroom. I hear grooming, breakfast and exit. Again I'm cold, I turn to find the sheet, I take my fingers and I cover. I know that if I try, I will reach the edge of the bed and I know my feet touched the floor. I know I will remain invisible.

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My stories

I write all my stories before he died, every day that passes I need is more urgent. I started writing just on weekends. Then I also wrote a few days of work. Now, that's all I do, write and occasionally eat. Eat because they make me and hide me pens and paper if I do not.

working so I thought that eventually I would end up stories, but something strange happens to me and I now I'm gushing. This morning to rinse my teeth I spit a story. At noon I cut a mini short of the big toenail. And tonight the wash, I felt like I sprang the beginning of a novel in the chest. I try to hold the pen but the fingers are entangled in poems. It's getting late.