At midnight by the cliff
Distinct — his song was laced with soil, a whiff of corpse; a destiny: his magnetism of tapered fingers, priestlike porcelain skin. She left her bed, and by the moonlit […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
The graveyard roses
Your tone’s a knife — carving ink-blot syllables, rust-and-oil-despicable, you’re hurling gazes laced with deep contempt, with thistle words and soot I’m suffocated, I am a stranded fish. We pick […]
What a Sunday walk can do
With words, their weapons sharp, they challenge truth they let us breathe the brimstone fumes (their views) they pick the facts apart, misusing youth- full energy, they poison food and […]
Once he was the morningstar.
Once the morningstar, a harbinger of dawn his skin’s a woman’s, alabaster bright he rose, beloved, outshining other stars His voice, a gospel, tempting, kissed, the sky eclipsed the night […]
The Jury and the Judge
Cobwebbed Bakelite, his hands are skeletal receiver heavy, weighted with the lead of words he never should have said. A vow, for this? The telephone is black and tick-tack of […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 