LOS ANGELES
From dream factory
To nightmare landscape
Eternally self-renewing
And all but used up,
The hot LA nights
Spiked with a Santa Ana wind,
Capote, Faulkner, Mailer, Fitzgerald, et al
Haunting the many-faceted gin-mills,
Looking for characters
For the books they were soon to write,
Hockney hobbling to
The marijuana store
To smoke away his many ailments,
Drinking Chai tea with the other lunatics,
Down Venice way
The ancient muscle men on Muscle Beach
Doing press-ups
And pull-ups that demean them,
Hollywood writ large on the hills
And a jaded sign on Santa Monica pier
Saying ‘Route 66 ends here’.
My Writing Life 
I like this very much Tom. There’s a consistent voice, and atmosphere, and plenty of little hooks among the lines that brought me back to reread and reread.
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Delighted that you enjoyed it John. I was fortunate enough to spend a few weeks there a couple of years back; the poem came from that visit. Amazing place LA; would live there if I could afford it!
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