Hollywood Elegies

By Bertlot Brecht


Under the long green hair of pepper trees,
The writers and composers work the street.
Bach’s new score is crumpled in his pocket,
Dante sways his ass-cheeks to the beat.


The city is named for the angels,
And its angels are easy to find.
They give off a lubricant odor,
Their eyes are mascara-lined;
At night you can see them inserting
Gold-plated diaphragms;
For breakfast they gather at poolside
Where screenwriters feed and swim.


Every day, I go to earn my bread
In the exchange where lies are marketed,
Hoping my own lies will attract a bid.


It’s Hell, it’s Heaven: the amount you earn
Determines if you play the harp or burn.


Gold in their mountains,
Oil on their coast;
Dreaming in celluloid
Profits them most.

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