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.