Let me keep my ol’ fedora
I might not be the prophet John and you are not Salome, but could you still let free that seventh veil and spend the night with me. I’ll offer you […]
Category Archives: Real Toads
Leaving in November
You left when leaves were dirty rags, when foliage shrunk to tattered shrouds dangling on the barren boughs. You left when days were dusk and foggy fingers slipped around my […]
Where I write
I write — in company of dreams, and squirrels, with an online dictionary in memories of woods. I write — imagining the shape of waves and footpaths marked by cairns […]
She wears Manilo Bhlanik slippers
The creature from the black water tries in vain to hide her webbed feet in second hand Manilo Bhlanik slippers. Otherwise she dresses plain in old sealskin, kelp and ghostnets. […]
Mrs and Mr McFinn
One day, Mrs Mabel McFinn draped her shoulders in shadows and left her husband Fergus McFinn to deal with his cobwebs and leftover stew. Mrs Mabel McFinn fled with a […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 