In York

I’m sitting sat down with a bunch of twits

(the sort of crowd chasing realisation,

enlightenment or summat close to that)

at a wooden table eating  pies,

 

chuntering on about how a mirror shocks

(when one of the mullocks across

stuffs a load of crust and gravy into his gob)

and how no one’s able ever to unabstract owt.