I

I have no location
I am without form
I am not anywhere
(nowhere is too precise)
awareness of a voice
soft, feminine
calling to me

there is a store I know, Kestrel Galleries,
clinging with unearthly tenacity
to the ground it inhabits
despite having been closed
for months longer than memory
wherein faeries dwell
and nymphs and Bastet
where nereids dance around
crosses that were not made
to honor God

I hold one in my hand
it’s made of silver
and is heavy to me
perhaps two hands long
and likewise wide
it is textured and tarnished
square edges
slightly upturned

it can be bought
for less than 26 ounces
of love


II

it is warm
the warmth of a summer’s day
surrounded by serenity
as I walk hand in hand
with a once innocent lover

the world through which we walk
is old
the sidewalk overgrown by grass
and narrow streets shaded
by countless trees
as the sun shines down
from midday height

all is peace
and I am happy
as we walk slowly
allowing her grandmother
to lead us

I look around, admiring
soaking in the vision of
tranquility
and realize I know this place
intrinsically, innately
as though my heart were attuned

I have driven through Brockport
and wandered its streets
countless times
but never have I seen before
where now my feet caress

her grandmother stops at a corner
next to a green-on-white sign
"Bus Stop"
I look to the right
up the quiet street
where children once played
or I, perhaps
and Know my destination
as I have always known
it is merely a block away
through I can’t yet see it –
Niagara Falls

her grandmother refuses
to walk any further
so we wait timelessly
for the bus

but I grow bored
as we wait ever still
and wander off with
once-lover by my side


III

there were people all around
crowded thousands in a tiny room
well furnished – antique chairs
and sofas, picture frames
with hazy grey photographs
of people dead long before
I was even a dream
of a dream
tungsten lamps shed dimly
yellow-orange light
over the multitude faces
all looking to me
for hope, perhaps
they give me money
little green pieces of crumpled
paper – well used, worn, tired
marked 1, 10, 100 or 1000
(they are the new 1000 dollar bills;
I know this because it looks –
different –
than the old ones)

I came here through a too large door
circular, hidden, secret
that led beneath the earth
beneath Brockport
to where these people live
secret lives
I found it by chance Fate
when I wandered
from Sara’s grandmother
Sara still at my side –
I look over my right shoulder
where she stands, impassive

the money is for some Purpose
I know this, they know this
and I Know what that purpose
is
but I keep it –
they are making me a pro(phet)fit

I look through the stack of money:
each one is written upon in blue
"Gary,
meet me (somewhere)
(random female name)"

suddenly – as though some epiphany
had found me, or stumbled into me –
I realize
these people, multitudes of followers
are Christian
one and all
and I can’t help but be
disgusted
by the Sheep


IV

deeper in this underground
labyrinthian compound –
beautiful in its simplicity and scale –
are a thousand rooms
connected by hallways through which now I walk
the people fill them
purposeful
all of these Christians
(whose women want to fuck me)

it is peaceful here
hidden from the world
I talk and laugh with these
children of God
softly in these pale,
quiet, sanctified
halls


V

one of the halls
if followed to its precisely nowhere
leads to a grand arena
(deep in the heart of the earth)
where the masses of this place
Gather – thousands of sitting
cheering Humans
purple light illuminates barely
the faces of those around me
while the center of this stadium
is brightly shone upon
where stand two teams
who I don’t know
and between them a host
it’s some sort of game show
that exists merely for these people and is unknown to all else

amid the cheering Excitement
I look again to the right –
two sets of clapping hands
attached to unimportant bodies
lie between myself and Zion.
the purple dimness outlines her face
yet I see her clearly
smiling
revealing her braces
as her eyes shine
she turns to look at me
and for a briefest moment
the thousands disappear
obfuscated by apathy


VI

I am outside again, warm
beneath the sun
I am dressed in simple robes
stone steps are roughly hewn
from some dark grey rock
they travel up perhaps a dozen feet
and are half as wide
to either side is a rough hewn wall
of the same grey stone
as tall as a merely sunset
I am crouched on the steps
looking up at Zion –
she wearing a dark navy sweatshirt
the grass around us is well kept
and though we are still
amongst the Christians
this place has a different feel
like perhaps a Bhuddist temple

I am Zion’s teacher
and she my student
I tell her of the world
and of the spirit
and she listens until it is time to fight

pride fills me
as she counters every attack
and avoids strike
after strike after strike
returning in kind
I watch as she moves with
grace and ease
only occasionally stopping to correct her
she moves like a zephyr
not so much fighting on these steps
as dancing

long minutes pass as we continue
until finally I see an opening
my hands slip inside her guard
trap her arms as I
push her against the wall
(taller now)

breathing heavily, we stand there
for silent eternity
until I notice her eyes are closed
because our lips have met
wet and warmly pressing gently

I move back and she turns from me –
melodramatic melancholy –
and, as all is known to me,
I know also why:
her soul flew as we kissed
to join mine in the heavens,
hearts entwined
for but a merest fraction of Now
but it is not something
either of us can admit
for I am her teacher
and she my student
so she walks from me
the back of her navy blue sweatshirt
encompassing the whole of my sight


VII

again in the arena
I am now a player
for the right team
with Zion at my side

we oppose a family of five
wearing glasses, all
and are destined to lose,
to fail
the game has not yet begun
and yet I know the result –
we are to learn Defeat

perhaps I play
simply for the playing

09/23/2001

Posted on 09/23/2001
Copyright © 2025 Gary Hoffmann