Bertolt Brecht is featured in Edition: Festivus

                                     1

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.

                                     2

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.

                                     3

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

4

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

                                     5

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