This side’s no longer wild
Belied and taken, brought to underbelly alleys wild enough to see the free of stairwayed heavens Holly’s sullied, desecrated, flailing shaven failing on the wilder side of falling. Darlinged, one […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Clara
Cattle die, kinsmen die you yourself die; I know one thing which never dies: the judgment of a dead (wo)man’s life. Hávamál Maybe it’s the fact I’m dead that modified […]
Eight views of fall
I. Gathering of clouds: dusk being the dark denominator of autumn equinox and sheets of rain. II. Not even the raven can cease to shiver underneath the shadows from a […]
Stairway to heaven
Patsy scratched her underarms, rolling a vein between thumb and forefinger. She was hungry; for food and more. She would struggle to find another climb; to find the heaven she […]
Plumage of words
Words are sometimes pillowed, of eiderdown, uttered softly lulla- bying for an almost drowning. At other times they billow, soar on feathered wings, brave you into boldness asking for a […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 