The graveyard roses
Your tone’s a knife — carving ink-blot syllables, rust-and-oil-despicable, you’re hurling gazes laced with deep contempt, with thistle words and soot I’m suffocated, I am a stranded fish. We pick […]
Daily Archives: October 18, 2015
What a Sunday walk can do
With words, their weapons sharp, they challenge truth they let us breathe the brimstone fumes (their views) they pick the facts apart, misusing youth- full energy, they poison food and […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 