edit of lines composed mere footsteps from misery

fuck the 3rd person. I'm the one who's miserable in this poem.


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Misery
I lie in piss and beer,
choking on smoke.
Today’s war is like yesterday’s war, tomorrow’s war
I regret not bringing my notebook.
I could scrawl a shit poem
while geese fly south.
I could migrate
far from here
while humans are erased by bulldozers,
bombs, progress.
I smell burning leaves,
groan a question,
but I’m gone.
No one’s bothered--
it’s business, busy-ness, madness, normal.