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In Martyn Crucefix's powerful new poems, the unearthed bones of the dispossessed gather together to march; in rural England, the whinnying of horses heralds an apocalyptic unease; amid October storms, there rises an acute sense of decline and fall as we stand, 'in hope maladroit as the woods riot'. Elsewhere, the ancient pike remains 'the weapon / of choice in the defence of democracy' as Our Weird Regiment evokes a sense of menace and insecurity in the environmental, political and personal spheres.
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