She cracked the air with her words, split the 
trees from their bough, tore stars from their 
night. Love fell from a thrown disc of sun to fill 
the back of his eyes. The courtyard framed the 
wetted stone for its own pleasure, and when 
pleasure met fate, all was dreamt and loamy 
about. And this is why the gaze of my thoughts 
stir from some nameless place in time. 
Why stubborn fates pull hearts in two,
Why no one speaks art but you.


Graeme Law is a writer/composer living in Suffolk, England. His work is heavily informed by visual metaphor and always drawn from lived experiences. He paints common experiences in new colors. He is dressed like an office clerk and the collar rubs against his neck.