Saturday, 3 March 2012


The smell blistered out through the wool,
heat eked out through the gaps,
and transposed itself neatly,
in thin plates, pooling around the drains,
welling up all around,
the day was awash with it,
forming bright colours,
but who knows if they were greens or blues,
reds or browns,
blood or rust, twigs or nests,
these confused colours bled out on our vests,
and wet tie die shone bright on our chests.

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