Candy coloured lighting Shines on the dark side of Hollywood The ornament is jellied And popsicles peeled. Before they begin They give her pink champagne She asks for some fizzy pop. Perfect torsos gleam on film But these are her 3 shadows Which gaze like growling Wolves And linger like the sound of the clapperboard, Hard core in soft focus But she is numb as the dead. They tell her she’s a star But her eyes shine only from Maybelline They tell her she’s so hot But later she will shiver and curl foetal like, in a cold cotton crib Listening to her Father Figure As he bakes her dreams in a hot bent spoon.