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.