November drizzle
Wet and drizzled this November, stillborn-cold, a tightened noose of darkness, throb of migraine, damp depression, a scent of unwashed wool and soggy shoes. November is the weight of death, […]
Category Archives: dVerse
Light a candle
You may sense my deep drawn sighs as yet a graveyard draught but I just crave your kind attention a candle for my forgotten grave. My father used to shut […]
Chain me
Chain me — cause soon the beaver moon will spill its silver in my chamber and curse my nightshade eyes with crave and hunger Chain me — cause I can […]
Fog in wig and gown
Muddiest — that leaden headed fog, too thick, groping, pestilent, holds this heaven and earth. Softly tripping on slippery pretence its owlish drawl from padded madhouse, dead in every churchyard, […]
Gangrene
I dressed my wounds with dirty linen — a faked grin (crimson painted) masks a bleeding heart. Can you sense the scent of gangrene yet? A second offering for Mish […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 