Me – your tipsy moon
Name your poison: me; dirty elixir and shaken chaser, sour wind or tonic, tipsy moon between your sheets from vesper into dawn. It doesn’t matter cause for me it’s you […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Slave to numbers
Around my wrist I have a gadget that calculates every step I take. The stairs I climb, the hills, every heartbeat and the way I run. It plots the time […]
Both life and cause of death
You’re butterfly effect — causality of songs, the meadowlark of summer days, the footsteps swallowed in mortality, an aftermath from nights and morphine daze. You’re both the timpani and piccola, […]
To take a life
‘Do you know that Phalaenopsis just keeps blooming’. ‘Like us… ’ she had smiled. Leyla is standing by the window. All is grey, sleet covering the streets. Clouds. The orchid’s […]
A bough in six dimensions
I Perched, its shadow bleeds the bough, spring is rising sap and blackbirds waiting. II On the highest bough a caterpillar contemplates the possibility to butterfly. III Bless the tender […]
