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 […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
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 […]
Ode to the last leaves of autumn
Today you cling to twigs; the last of leaves still there before the bending boughs are bared I still recall the burst of buds In May when blackbirds sang and […]
