By David Eide  

The Joy of Simply Living Denizens of the city darkness spring from the deepest suffering And they dance over the adult book store listening to horrible Music, drinking wine. Then suddenly turn angry and wander senseless though the The sad city streets Heated minds, there, ashamed of the airless times When the camera moved in and made them famous. And in their one moment of stupid posing Seemed to last ten intoxicating eons. Having abandoned the calendar and watch Viewed reality as a wheel of woe. A mere attachment Of the futile ego to what went unchanged through generations. Ten thousand things, ten thousand things Have your way with me. Ten thousand things, ten thousand things Bury the people in their idiocy. And the ones that aren't stoned are Marxists And hate the culture or go around believing they are Beethoven And, sometimes, Einstein.