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A man in a blue woolly hat and ski style anti glare type glasses sits on the isolated pew asleep, surrounded by bulging plastic carrier bags, his feet planted beside the stone roots that form the base of the font in which the poet William Blake was once baptised. Adam and Eve stand either side, her hand stretched out between, cupped round the apple. The serpent twines. Behind the darkness of his opaque lenses the man dreams on.
on poinsettia leaves—