A lethal dose of tender bricks
With mar(bled) masks and muted eyes from matrassed walls, the poet calls his voice is nails, his gaze is stone; alone in ash with ink he wails. But our sycophantic […]
Daily Archives: September 10, 2015
He loved that cat …
“The sailor boy upstairs — his cat, you know that tabby?” “Yes I know, but come your shirt is frayed again, we can’t afford a new … I need to […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 