Two of a kind
Is there any sense of soil in the way my chromosomes are curled? Or is the grass and wind expressed in the way I spin my words to syllables? I […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Like every mother (maybe)
When my mother bought herself a chainsaw for clearing up the woods I thought that it was something every mother does; just like keeping socket wrenches in her handbag (after […]
Monday Mourning
Sing me a hymn for the weekend just passed, Sing me a blues for the mourning of Mondays, for dusk and rain in October Sing me a dirge, for the […]
Treason-theft
The final night before she left; before I knew, how thin the ice can be; I had no clue about her treason-theft; safe and sound I slept. Awoke alone, I […]
Breath of the dragon
The city is a dragon, aware but dormant with its callous eyes watching over avenues and cul-de-sacs. It watches over treasures kept in vaults and pockets. Every banker, every beggar […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 