Monday, November 9, 2015


There has to be
an order, she tells
me in the pastel
room of her death,
the heat filling up
our small place,
There has to be
a purpose, she 
mutters on her
breath and I count
them, try to hold
on to them, bottle
them, as they 
seep out one by
one by one.


I have created
a palace in my
mind to go back
to, where life
was simple, a rainy
autumn day
on which I had no
worries for all this,
where no one
spoke ill of me,
spread rumors,
tried to tie me
to the rules,
where I could
play and run like
a child
because I was
a child.


I found a shard
of you and realized
it had slipped
out, so I jammed
it back in, twisted it
to feel you again,
then looked at
your picture while
I felt this pain.

Robert League

my ego would like to believe   i got an email from an old girlfriend yesterday   she told me how she stumbled upon my ...