Brave enough to bleed
It’s not a fragile thing to bleed — or to pillow fears. It’s not the boldest who bear arms — those who wage the wars. So let us be the […]
Category Archives: Real Toads
Stillness of July
After summer solstice there is sudden silence, as if the birds can sense the dirge of darkness, they have ceased to sing. And as the neighbors flee we try to […]
A day for Schopenhauer
When summer hesitates like it does today he bends with wind and willow close to water with his weight morosed. Benched he sits alone dropping breadcrumbs for the geese He […]
Morning is remorse
Morning is remorse, as lipstick left on glass, stale last left beer, left in scent of cigarettes, sunlight razor blades. The shower she left running as she left me drowsy […]
How about Icarus?
I wonder if the pull of hubris hurt like strings before your plunge? or if it was like sky, with blueness, sea and heaven, lack of lunch Did you sense […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 