Murder of crows
This morning when I passed their tree the crows, the augary birds stayed silent, as if they knew and wouldn’t say like canary birds succumbing to the noxious gas and […]
Category Archives: Real Toads
Glass and silver
I didn’t want his glass and silver to be a lady or to serve him dinner. So I pawned his linen for my lens, went out collecting sinners to fix […]
Water in November
When dawn is breaking, through November mist the trees are merely shadows of a summer passed and when I brush against their branches drops of water trickle down my back. […]
A Saturday at the end of November
We walked north today only to return to home by bus; accomplishing nothing… except to see a blanched glimpse of winter sun holding hoarfrost to its shallow chest… and that’s […]
My love is not…
My love for you is not like petals, soft and frail it’s not nocturnal like the attar-scented lips of youth No,my love is not the rose’s bloom. My love for […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 