Hollywood

The corner of Sunset and Vine
is the dirty
dingy loud home
to the homeless.

The Chase fountain spits cloudy water
while dead turtle empty 
soda bottles float 
and discarded rags droop
like flags
after a hurricane.

The smell of humans
 - urine shit vomit garbage and BO -
drifts along carbon monoxide currents

The mentally ill 
s c r e a m 
at ghosts
while tourists snap photos
of a filthy sidewalk
pollocked in mystery stains,
their eyeballs straining
for celebrity sightings
 — hopeful glimpse
of the Hollywood dream.

A warm Santa Ana 
tumbles 
over
the HOLLYWOODland sign
down 
the hills
over Franklin and Hollywood Blvd
pushing 
the sweet smells
of food, flowers, perfume and wealth 
ruffling newspaper beading
on a bus bench.

The city is alive
but the rhythm is dead.

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