Flat.

Flat.

I hate flat country.
Moundless miles, of
nothing outstanding just
hedges and stiles.

The horror of level horizons
makes me feel squashed in gravity,
crawling ant like
on a painted paving stone.
Purposeless and aimless.
Norfolk is a level non entity.
A morbid map of monotony.
Irish bogland is a banality
of boring bogger all.
Plains are too plain
I need features.

I want drifting downs,
massive muscular moors,
towering rocks ripping ice from the stars.
Furious tree covered fells,
valleys and chasms,
gorges and gouges;
Eiger walls,
Niagara falls,
hills like buttocks
and sawteeth.

I want to see where I’m going.
I want to know where I am.