A poem by Law Alsobrook

High above, silent & suspended from the nape

of the world, clouds suture the sky. Like torn linen

some mornings are nearer the margin

of sleep than the threadbare relics of dream.

Below, monosyllabic & mapless bees cycle

weightless amongst pollen-heavy thistle & cyclamen.

Stone after stone the world builds

an elegy for broken glass.

Law Alsobrook an Assistant Professor in Graphic Design at VCU in Qatar. He has work published or forthcoming in DIAGRAM, The Volta, Petite Hound Press, Typehouse Literary Magazine, After the Pause, & Technoetic Arts: A Journal of Speculative Research. He is Co-Editor and Art Director for diode poetry journal & Diode Editions.