Will Vigar

poet. writer. imposter.

Hotel. Birmingham. 19.8.17. 03:17.am

The Dante of Manchester 1

Birmingham sleeps,

its illuminated

building works,

a shadow jungle

to trap the drunk

and wary.


Lost in the plastic

and sodium


infernal circles

traced in brick

dust, he calls






an inebriate incantation,

and no Lesser Key.


A tsunami of slurred

Anglo-Saxon oaths

issue and echo

as he drops

his polystyrene

tray of chips.


Surveying his loss

he walks away,

then turning to take

a run up he kicks

his chips into a wide

carbohydrate arc,


shouting “Rooooneeey”

and acting out

his World Cup

fantasies; escaping

his Inferno

on Paradise Circus.



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