From the 47th Street and your years
Of waging war and inner peace,
Hollywood looms large to you,
This city on the north from your
Sad sorrow in this early fog at five.
You see life lived in silverscreens,
Sexy sirens seducing your quick wits,
Low quotient for the painful prose
You wrote for seven times seven gratis,
More when you own the urgent pantings
Of lusting lovers, their lost anguish
For your double-your-dollar taste.
You trace the rays of the late winter
Sun as it bathes this Dreamland,
The ruddy rays stirring rivulets
Of ruses residing in your ever unhappy
Heart. You smile a bit, conspiring
With the celluloid man, the smile
A sly, submitting to the suddenness
Of that first fall in the mind.
Aurelio S. Agcaoili