Dear Bartender
Spill us glassed, your sparkling sips of fairy-green absinthe; pour us g(r)ins of shimmered rose-dance, skip-twist-swirls on ice and melt our minds tonight. Breeze us bold and bring on bacchanals. […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Yours is my inquest
Fusing for tempests — are you waiting — are you baiting me for sparks? Am I excused — for eardrums I’ve bruised — for willows and wind — for sorrow […]
Awake in the night
Answer is night — What’s silver and black — What’s borrowed from day — What’s free from delight? No said the night — Where are your deeds — Where is […]
Postcards of hangings
They’re selling postcards of the hanging of the old ladies knitting and the soldiers kissing shadowed under an ageless sun and relentless rain. Who said laughter is never befriended with […]
Shards of us
Unearthed remains of metaphors, a braille of past, with care and glue, we stitched together shards of us; repaired what’s broken with apologies; to maybe last another day, or ‘till […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 