Avenues of Ash Trees. (Politics).(Poem)

 
AVENUES OF ASH TREES 
 
   In England, there are a lot of houses in the country, 
   Ant eggs from the broken cities, 
   White faeces; 
   Collectivisers--salt, or curry, 
   Gulls colonising the sewerage brown of winter; 
   Abroad, uneaten fields mean bread, here sandwiches 
   Mean excrement: eyes that are not all eye are made of splinter. 
 
   In England, the countryside, long conquered, hides inside the man, 
   Familiar, digested, excreted; 
   Like glass, you see a fairytale, the cordial of land; 
   The man-cult kills, kills what, pro-nature paedophile, it pans 
   For something else; evaporates to waterflesh the vomit, sand; 
   The glassy trees voluptuous and pleated, 
   The Greenwood retrospective ornament, a child its parent says was never 
   planned; 
   A Huckleberry Finn, a Miles, a Quint, a child 
   It says is wild; 
   It's dispossessed, possessed by demons of a man; 
   Like females, fields look good because defeated. 
 
   In Scotland, on the other hand, even the most intensely cultivated land 
   preserves a rustic integrity, 
   The landscape looks like nature is the indigene, not man. 
   In England, the countryside's an Australian aborigine: 
   A beautiful vagrant living in a remade world; 
   ...