Only the living can fear
The taste of fear is open, pure and red — a lump of meat, it’s poppies lost and flown from cries in mud, in trenches darkly bled. We harvested our […]
Category Archives: terza rima
Paradise Lost
The dragon morning broke in glow of tangerine and tongues, in flares ensnaring trees with scorch and woe. We barely saw the smoke for air as clear as lies before […]
Fear is life itself
The taste of fear is schizoid pure and red, a piece of meat, it’s poppies lost and flown from cries in mud and trenches darkly bled. We harvested the fear […]
Three’s a crowd
Three’s what forms a crowd, it’s said unwanted one’s unpaired from two, You’ve never seen a threesomed bed and marriage vows can work as glue It’s making sense to close […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 