My dreams have fangs
My dreams are carnivores, they’re less of knifes but more from lead. The night’s a lizard harpsichord, it’s heavy footfalls of ungrateful deads. Outside owls; my head’s a cockroach nest, […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Ada Lovelace day
She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; Lord Byron Creating ways to clockwork math. I left my work to be decoded, by famous men […]
October sky
Dented pewter-sheets are hanging low, and weigh my brow, it’s neither sunset cotton-candy-fluff of summer nights nor striations carved on indigo. It’s not the thunder- heads of rage exploding ‘fore […]
It’s always darkest…
In dusk when rust of hills is crowned with gold the veins of rivers fill with blood and rooks have gathered waiting for the wind to rest. That’s when you […]
milky sea
we sipped silence once we stripped and skinny dipped in milky sea you sat with kelp beside me mute and wet in fluorescent skin were you selkie? were you dream […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 