Midnight walking
Her path across the garden is from moonlight moth-winged; barefoot-firm she’s neither fragile nor she’s fleeing, she’s only searching luminescence for her flaming flesh. She knows his scent of cinnamon […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
To my warden
Not even sunshine warms me quite like you and evening rain can never raise my yearn as softness of your raging lips that burns with spice of peppermint in purple […]
Black Carnation
This morning is a black carnation; slightly bent it’s dying in the January drizzle. I’m tossed and turned at the mercy of the cruel clouds and have to shawl myself […]
Only the living can fear
The taste of fear is open, pure and red — a lump of meat, it’s poppies lost and flown from cries in mud, in trenches darkly bled. We harvested our […]
Higher grounds
They said that glaciers wouldn’t melt, that science was conspiracy, a hoax to take our jobs; and we believed, believed and dug ever deeper, deeper just to feed their furnace […]
