A cruel month
February is cruel, but nowadays it’s from lack of light and not from snow or ice. “Here was once a bridge”, Jack points at the rotting stumps extruding through fermenting […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Soil
To mulch my limbs one day have withered underfoot To soil and there my soul, severed, becomes a thousand daisies, eyes of lawn, a smile for children’s feet. – […]
An itch between my toes
There are days I feel an itch between my toes as if webbing has begun to grow. There are days I feel my voice is sound of water splashing in […]
Next stop des Moines
Our bus is a cocoon; united only few of us diverges into time and space. We ride a comet’s tail, we are encased inside a satellite. Light outside are planets; […]
A pale face
There is no memory quite as clear as the pale face swallowed by fog. Apple bloom crushed on wet pavement. An effort to write an imagist poem inspired by the […]
