Out walking this weekend,
I passed through open spaces,
places that were green,
wooded, unseen. Sometimes
I saw only the good, sun and
blues skies, mist and frost,
lots of birds and trees
I could not name,
nothing man-made, no
dwelling-places, though
I heard the sound of him,
his cars and jets and roar
of dirt-bikes, ugly voices.
His noise annoys me.
Always has. It is late
at night. Alone, drinking,
thinking of my outcast state,
here, in this place of mine,
a space designed
for those like me
to live and die in,
for just surviving,
more and more,
and every day,
the less and less
I want to stay.
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