Hotel Britannia
As breakfast is braved on blemished plates, Dickens looks down from a dusty frame. Management feel the need to repeat

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Nothings
  Soft and salty crusted with soot, Once bitten, the butter-drenched holes became trees In flaky forests with trunks that

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Northern Powerhouse
  We’re still here as wind whips white powder across aborted roads till our eyes sting. It sticks in the

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Progress
  Mad Mal, suffering from PTSD, recovering alcoholic, addicted to Red Bull, the cheap sort, 35p. Haven’t seen him for

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Precinct: Salvation Army Man
  Sally Army Man,                    rattling a plastic can in the doorway of an abandoned BHS branch, believes in creation

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This Poetry
(with apologies to Benjamin Zephaniah).   What’s it all about, then, this poetry? Why d’you bother?   To loosen the

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Full English
  For EDL members and little Englanders everywhere.   Tommy Robinson, whatever your name, I’m glad you’re so keen on

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Not Pictured
Years later, who cares about grains of sand stuck to my feet like chequered memory of table cloths,   or

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WRappers in your car are a nuisance
My car’s a mess, there’s bottles on the floor, And all the pockets in all the doors Are full of

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Jimmy Andrex - Poet, Performer, Propelling Pencils
Normanton is made of dying stars
Brian Cox says everything is falling in curves, forever in spacetime.   always falling, collapsing, expanding, fusing a 96 chemical

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