Dreaming in stills
In anemic autumn, shadows chasing breath — a sickle sickness prints and clots with little death: a tear-trickled lacing rot in sentenced gloom, choking on the fags: doomed to tint […]
Category Archives: free verse
Our voices are volcanoes
Abyss, your eyes are calling, tempting darkly, over midnight waves, on wings I’m falling. In sun the wax is melting, but on skies I soar. My feet, once lead, have […]
My nest
My nest is rust, it’s sand and dust it’s windblown emptiness, the sage of rheumy eyes. “I’m home again” it’s age of eggs, a yolk turned green. it’s smell, it’s […]
A lethal dose of tender bricks
With mar(bled) masks and muted eyes from matrassed walls, the poet calls his voice is nails, his gaze is stone; alone in ash with ink he wails. But our sycophantic […]
He loved that cat …
“The sailor boy upstairs — his cat, you know that tabby?” “Yes I know, but come your shirt is frayed again, we can’t afford a new … I need to […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 