Sunday, 22 July 2012


He was wearing a long robe when his fingers started to break.
It started in the tips. They ever so slowly started to open, crackle with fine fractures
that grew like lines forming in baked earth.

Then his hands started to hatch:
branches burst forth.

They were very black and covered in silvery fluid like the sac
that protects the pod of a new born kitten.

There may have come a rending in his chest as it split open and further foliage –
for the growth that was his hands had already advanced into the final stages
of high summer – unfolded and grew like a sped up film of a seed germinating,
streaking tendrils towards the crust of the soil where the green grass grows.

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