L.A. | poem by Bert Meyers The world’s largest ashtray, the latest in concrete, capital of the absurd; one huge studio where people drive from set to set and everyone’s from a different planet. For miles, the palm trees, exotic janitors, sweep out the sky at dusk. The gray air molds. Geraniums heat the alleys. Jasmine and gasoline undress the night. This is the desert that lost its mind, the place…