The mystery of obelisks
On the far side of the moon in Jurassic shadows, there’s an obelisk it’s polished black by solar winds; an orb transmitting blight to seed this tidal pestilence inflict lunatic […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Almost daffodil
Be almost daffodil be oak and sun be barefoot willowed sashay me, dance and sway entangle me, embrace the light, be a blackbird’s beating heart soft as pitter-patter, rained from eaves […]
Sunrise
It’s sunrise. Cold. She’s still asleep; a child, beaded and with dreadlocks; she’s fashionably trashed but judging from the needle-marks on her forearms the search for veins has been successful. […]
More silence than before
She is more silence with the words more random than before, repeated though. I imagine it’s like mykorrhiza — filaments devouring sense and sentences, and her strength that’s waned with […]
My sacred sister spring
A magnetic poem for the quadrille at dVerse using the word green inside.
Björn Rudbergs writings 