The Steep Face

Is this too far removed from nature? Is nature far removed from what is really there? I fold a crease across your landscape Now it cannot be rolled You derive your distance from an ancient trick Quickly described Like a thin, limp bough soft behind the rain And far out past cement-flecked glass Like ripped vision, excitement of the mind Setting the heart aquiver Almost making the body flake I speak to myself and the flora creeps in But later it's fought for, smothered indoors Muffled again by cloth and underpinned by mould And cracked like the paint that trims it Artificial, stinking snowflake uncomfortably rucked To clear or to clog? The sharp but distant tang of wet brambles Eating into your presence with soft, black teeth What did you hope to learn? Modernity?