It started slow and gathered speed, a brief glimpse of mould,
illuminated, inspired by flickering light in a kitchen cold.
In waiting, a brave new world.
I watched the chicken, confused, rediscover its limbs,
then crawl out of the sludge, combust and increase twofold.
Readying, a brave new world.
The once-chicken rallies the spores around it to start anew
and they rebel, the unwanted leftovers, seven nights old.
The beginning of a brave new world.
They switch from vibrant green to jaded blue with a sullen hue
and as a single unit they infect and spread slow, enrolled.
Begun, a brave new world.
The bacterial children are sent to school to become scholars,
while the parents patiently perfect their newfound stronghold.
A blooming, brilliant, brave new world.
Their compost universe blossoms in bold after a matter of days,
chemical stardust exploding in a kitchen bowl coloured marigold.
Burning bright, a brave new world.
Particles collide, crash like fireworks, fizzling life electrified.
The creation story of old chicken-soup in galaxies unrolled.
The branching out of a brave new world.
Isn’t this life like mine, no matter how small on a stained spoon?
Should I intervene, judge and end it all, kill a picture to behold?
Left undisturbed, a brave new world.
I think my housemate, unclean as he may be, might be a God.
Craig, switch to a chisel and a rock, write a tome and have it told.
Documenting his brave new world.
 The name Craig derives from the Scottish word ‘craeg’, which means rock.