Dead leaves
Sometimes I dream of of being carcass, corpse, remains Sometimes I dream of dancing with the dead. Sometimes I dream of blood and bones; decay and rot; of being none […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
All on black
It’s not stealing I had said — I only need this win, and I will pay them back. She won’t fight for custody; she’ll take me back. This is the […]
Tabula Rasa
This poem is a void — devoid of hues or views, a canvas lacking pigment a ballad yet unborn; tabula rasa. This poem is the pewter — stacked and ready […]
Consoling the moon
I know you should be blue — my winter moon. You should lend your sheen to snow; you should reflect yourself in ice and not in water. Winter should be […]
Sepia
He dreams in sepia — Like every book is one in many, stories merging; flow of water under bridges, glow of past: she is woman, mother, girl — His past […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 