Mother Alleyway

Mother Alleyway, can you hear me? The midnight guzzlers
are sleeping off work,
trying to survive eight kilometers of an oil spill.

I hope the ocean's versions of humans
enjoy fluids. "Desk-shovelers do." Newspapers say.

As tonight, am I abled by curiosity for the
older walkers groaning for a sleep of silence?

The testifying orchids apologize on their knees,
& a wind in the door breathes imaginary guilt:
"Yes," they howl, "I believe in Egypt."

You wouldn't think to check the license plates
of passing strangers, but rest-assured it's your identity.
As the oxycotin semaritans pass through Mother
Alleyway, unnoticed.

It's only a crime if you respect morality,
& there is no totality inside Mother Alleyway.

Everybody is either accepting opportunity
or drinking away the person they've come to be.

"Why'd you disrupt my slumber?" Old fossils recently discovered
uncover the wonders of new species of pre-breeding
humans scream. "I'm trying to forget how you've forgotten
me."

Maybe I'm one for patience, but I've a reservation-date
with the full moon. Maybe she'll help me
be as naked & as proud as her. Smiling for the fighting
ramblers pissing on her efforts to keep them awake.

Painters boast inside one of Bill Gate's mansions:
"Last call for hand-made Georgian businesses!"

As memory serves repetition,
any peasant with a smile is criminally insane.
Though we don't mind,
not when we're inside Mother Alleyway.