The weight of snow
His words were footsteps made in wet snow, imprints cold and heavy hesitant but rushed as crossing roads in winter, careful not to slip. Through puckered lips his breath — […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Scared of owls
When I grew up we had a weekend house an hour’s drive from town. It was located at the end of a gravel road behind a spruce tree hedge. We […]
As it falls
November falls as frost on leaves and brittle grass. November falls with weight of lead on roof and walls where we seek warmth in empty flasks. Please let me sleep […]
Rush hour
In sheen of polished shoes the rush of feet — pretending purpose in a rush of hurry to commuter trains. Their polyestered hearts have ceased to beat for anything but […]
Likes as true as buttons
We are relatively well related (as likely-likes-on-Facebook buddies), my cousin’s only one degree of separation, though he moves in better circles close to fashion almost sex-drug-rock-n’-rolling which could have moved […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 