Hẻm

Floating down a stream of alleys
Guided by mere unconsciousness
I choose to go where it’s quietest.
But for one occasional uncle
Red-faced, half-opened eyes
Confiding in his glass of beer;
Only TVs talk to each other.
Past the gates where the dogs stand guard
I jumped slightly at their sudden barks
Stay calm, they mean no harm. Float on.
Drift and turn to where the dead ends lurk
It’s the deepest parts where treasures emerge