LAMENTATIONS

by David Eide

New world that bleeds the life from the western shore. The people walk stunned by the advancement of the sun and are unable to marshal the curiosity to penetrate the heavy plots that dominate them.

And yet, a wonderful moment occurs under the pressure of an invisible but real force that signal to the mind that things are this way and no other.

Stinking pail of fish divert the poets attention from an old Japanese woman who fights against the wind on the long avenue, lined with cheap shops. Cheap shots that are driven by the celebration of another time, abandoned by the same wicked ease that abandoned the philosophy.

They run to the parasites who cling to the swaying underbelly to the structure of things; they become the mentors and dictate the terms of life to the malleable people.

A space penetrates the eye of some tired warrior whose final thought is of the street his house was on.

The poet is driven to celebrate the collapse of the people as a normal state of affairs.

He is embarrassed that women come to his tiny apartment and see the way he lives. They do not like academic books and so sit bored at his table smoking cigarettes and telling him that he should get out more often. Get real, man, they say.