Morning on the metro
In chthonic snaking underneath we’re crammed commuting flesh to flesh; with faces luminent, as if our death: is closer now when brought us fresh a morning when from Manchester we […]
A song of springtime
when sound is honey, music spiced with spring come sing, come spin come bare your feet come dance with me then dusk me gently swirl me dreams spun in honey […]
Roadkill
Bombarded by the news, by tweets and updates. on blood and bombs. from Nice and Paris, from Baghdad and Aleppo; on poverty and sport, paid by clicks for dating Russian […]
The first of many summer nights
Still, the sky is not completely inked as chocolate skin on licorice, perfect is this, the first of many summer nights. At dawn I’ll wake, and go to sleep again. […]
Food for thought
This still life still can be a shotgunned swan, both corpse unplucked and food uncooked. Just add some warmth, asparagus and salt, parsley, parsnips, pepper and potatoes; stir to sate […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 