One night in Paris…
Still clinging to the grains of sand remains a hope of one and half degrees, unburned its fossil carbon, drops still left undrained. Today, on paper signed, a lesson learned: […]
Tag Archives: Paris
Why still ambiguous?
As branches bends for desert winds, close to breaking, and the weight of what I’ve said is slightly less than my mute retort inside. They send me feathers white of […]
A handsome man
We walk in wisps of nauseous fumes, in tickling rot of hate: in words, in deeds. We’re destined, weighted with our AK-47:s, and C4-belts. We hate your joy, your music […]
I miss the songs
I miss the music, and the way we laughed before they came, when only wine was red. I miss the innocence with friends, the draught of beer we shared before […]
Like sipping a Pastis
Rolling from his lips, those dreams like sipping your pastis of milky wormwod bitterness. But bending backwards you still meet his promiscuous promises of afternoons – anonymous in Rive Gauche […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 