Honeysuckle
It never was because she kissed me, when we were drunk on seaweed, or the way she cuddled me in furious perfume. It wasn’t even love that night. It was […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
The gold that was spilled
“I am my own muse. I am the subject I know best. The subject I want to better.” ― Frida Kahlo Cramped in this corset, with aches in my column […]
Until parting
You tornado in tresses of hair as you turn me to madly be falling, be feral, be wild, in an urge to get naked and kindle the fire; We burn […]
Germinal on repeat
Edna wakes at 5 AM; each morning the same chores, there are cows to milk and manure to clean, then breakfast for Joe. “Why’s coffee so weak?” “We’re down to […]
River wild
Your foaming funnels, swirls and eddies in rage and laughter river wild and steady Your roaring rapids, falls, cascading water from a trickle born to strength of slaughter. Your voice […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 