Mama Lula Chekhov Alrite

'I live uptown. I live downtown. I live all around.' 
- 'Changeling', The Doors.

Facebook, festivals, coupling, karoshi.
The Snorgeoisie dream of World War Z.
Mood wings, mood poisoning.
Wearish is this way of life.
Oh well whatever nevermind,
mama lula chekhov alrite!

Norwich is an orange nidus,
so I wear my purple sunglasses.
Should you covet them, fish
the chazzas for the like.
If you find some, or you're blinded by the sun,
mama lula chekhov alrite!

Now I'm a vespertine cyclist  
beneath an amberdamaged fudge
of doves. The parish quite unharassed,
we duck all outriders save Twilite
& that damn earworm of an eggcorn,
'mama lula chekhov alrite'.

Psychedelic hangover this morning,
but now nightcycling , off the beaten Ritalin.
Can't see a thing; feel everything.
I wear my (purple) sunglasses at nite,
on the crest of a midnite wheelie.
Mama lula chekhov alrite!

Underpass blades don't raid, but they mite.
I blow a kiss goodbye to the
anuses of this town's black cats.
The creak of a midnite scorer's bike.
Underpass eyes pass me by.
Mama lula chekhov alrite!

Ji-Mo, my original bad influence,
why did you throw the chapter pods away?
If felines could rate classic rock bands,
catlovers know cats'd be Doors acolites.
Similar mystique: elegant shell, feral kernel.
Mama lula chekhov alrite!

Did the dishiest drunkard
in the history of Los Angeles, alcodelic
Dionysus-cum-Diogenes appear
to me as boghouse blues spirit guide
à la Elvis & Clarence in True Romance,
'Mama lula chekhov alrite'

for Ji-Mo's pep mantra? Nah. But
Pere Lachaise was only pilgrimage
I ever made. Later,  le vent de gard du Nord
crooned thru the pissoir as I took le shite,
'C'est la vie, hakuna matata,
che-che-chong che-che-chong

mama lula chekhov alrite!'