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Living a different life I might have been happy.
Not merely enduring each day—that’d be happy.

From here the tall buildings downtown hide the hills.
There some man lives unseen and so is happy.

Her face grown wizened and despondent now
you see in photos was once radiantly happy.

Self-medicating with booze of several kinds
sustains the illusion I too will be happy.

Files full of letters from friends back there.
Rereading them now makes me less unhappy.