Back Alley Bread

I remember well, the visions of mescaline nightmare's
clouding my head, illuminating the light
'tween enlightenment and a street lamp
Leaning shadows of doom,
cling and hang from silver spoons
dripping down the black background
which we call the moonlit sky,
trash cans boom with a symphony tuned rhythm,
the boxcar ghettos in a row, a village of lost hope,
lost thoughts, and lost memories
A sea town drowned with a wave of alcohol oxygen
I hear summoned hums ringing down
the back alleys, designed for filth and sin
Screams of joy, cries of death...
all go but unheard
The humdrum hullabaloo eradicates the peace
Law and order are in the eye of the needle
Buzzing feet tap down the stoney walls of abandoned arcades,
and into the nearest den of dread and desire
Opium calypsos sing in shaman song, tangent in a trance
Bar maidens collect tips from men in masked overcoats,
with large wallets and top hats.
Hungry rats crawl along the floor
to their nest for rest, their humble hole, on the whole, the bread was better in Soho
Buildings fall flat with a fire flood
signpost says 'Screw Brotherhood'
forget it all,
memories and illusions
the tiny feel of bruises and bumps
an egotistical goose
A fool to think,
to dream,
to hope
to wander down the line of ill-repute and ill-gotten

by K.B Cook

Comments (1)

Another flawlessly brilliant piece to which I can find no fault. The musical analogy of life being metaphorically a conductable entity is nicely done. After all, who else is the best conductor (Interpretor) of his/her own life than the individual whose life is being thusly orchestrated.