Winter-spring
We went up early to catch a bit of ice before it melts; skating wasn’t great, but we felt free when we turned back home to sail with the wind. […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Moonluck
Neither never nor nought is forever not darkness when dreaming of you. It’s cleverly wicked It’s bright and it’s cold when caught in the slivers of silver the snow moon […]
Wet wool
Blackbirds singing, linden blooming and a nauseating reek of roses. I withdraw to the back of the chapel. I can neither face the fake sorrow of her family nor myself. […]
Still life with milk
My privileges are all my own: a Speedo tracksuit with my feet tightly laced into leaden shoes. A mold to fit, a mask of skin too tight for comfort. I […]
Moonlack
Without its moon the night walks by forlorn and passes slowly on its drowsy lead-feet moaning ash-cloaked to the graveyard up above. Without its moon the night and I are […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 