Hollywood Poem

Long sweeping rains
And fleeting figures
Crossing bold streets
Of tinsel glamour

Tiny painted dolls
Everywhere

The air is pregnant
And I smell
The resin of poppies

A parade of
Private dreams
Neon lights
Blinking screens

Pale silhouettes
Sleeping under
The veil of desire
And sometimes…

I see you
Sitting in a booth
In the back
Of the Brown Derby
Sipping an
Endless martini.