Midnight Fallout

midnight
on the streets
of an oilslick rain
dancing in mesmerizing displays
showcasing the gasoline spectrums
and there is a bitter sense of irony
that something so bad
can flow so slow
in a ballet
of all the colors of beautiful
while the alleyway winos
tell stories
from years long past
some stories so full of lies
that all you want to do is laugh
some so sadthat if another word is spoken
you will surely die
under the canopy
of midnight death
where dumpsters sit
like collosal beasts
waiting to feed
on the forgotten weak
that wonder off
from these oil stained streets