Now it begins for our ambassador,
a journey beyond what one life can hold.
As if there is nothing more important
than finding a room on a warm night alone,
inside this tiny glow within the luminous
octopus arms of LA. Jets float over
bright as shooting stars in the falling light.
The best way to convey what follows would be
what Hollywood calls a rail shot of continuous
rolling kaleidoscopic views through the Havens
halls past doors to the right and left
with passing guests as imagined characters.
Then the view portals out to sacred
shade or cool linear ponds where a girl
emerges from the water Bond style.
God give me voice to convey all of what
I felt and saw upon this short journey
in a fantasy of real wood and steel.
If ahead seems darker, Vern has a flashlight.
within that circle, green nylon carpeted hall lit
with blinking light-emitting diode sconces glued
in even intervals marking walls that seemed in motion.
Polanski's intestinal cramping walls in "Repulsion".
"Step out," says Vern. "Stay close, these halls are long
with many turns. I do not advise talking
to the guests." It was so dark my eyes could
not adjust. I held Vern's arm unobtrusively, I thought.
"Let go," he said "you can follow from behind
and stay quiet as you do. I noticed his epaulete,
glowing edges like old watch face of radium.
With this man in the green suit I was good.
I felt I could not have found my way otherwise
as the passage seemed to darken further on.
Murmured voices from inside were calling,
like a flock in the morning darkness
when hunting wild ducks in the valley.
The sound of guest's voices in their rooms
pulsing, querulous, manic, tones orchestrated
with drums and cello vibrations down at the
bottom of the C string. Then a cry for quiet
as a constant chorus of low feedback
loops of needy, indistinct demands for silence.
"Your room could be one of many we hold
open for new arrivals and assignment
depending on the length of the stay.
No one is here forever you know."
That word covers the past in concrete
growing harder and harder as it cures.
"Mina assigns based on efficiency, availability,
location, amenities and so forth."
"I like quiet." Vern halts, as if his neck
chain came to an end, "Ah traveler,
do not seek too much here of that,
the walls have ears and mouths too, what we have,
we have. Our calling is to find a room and soon."
That seemed strange to me as, typically,
rooms are assigned by computer at the front desk.
Vern reading my mind, "Our assigned rooms
are merely recommendations, we must do the leg
and hand work to ensure access and vacancy.
Guests move to other rooms, unassigned,
upsetting plans before we can correct the data.
Vacancy depends on the confluence of guest
and time. Nothing is constant, movement is all.”
Our passage had begun to fill with travelers moving
with uncertain feet - bathrobes hooded to the side
leaving a dark shadow face, monk-time.
Some mumbled to themselves as they walked
like hunched people do on the streets of San
Francisco where they live from drug to drug,
or die like beasts die wherever they drop.
Room numbers were not clear, some had fallen off
with a ghost image in glue of former years
as in pictures of the celebration on the
hall brochure with the owner, vigorous, tall
and his crew including, in the back row, Mina.
My effort seemed to grow with distance
as we walked the green floor towards a receding
goal the straps of my pack began to pull.
Then, as soldiers, others would carry
the gear for stumblers, the ammo, the gun,
with no changing of quick time pace.
My thoughts beyond command ran
as if a drug seeped into the air to go
through the chambers of my lungs
Dimming my brain in dangerous intoxication.
Groping, considering alternatives,
we move on, me behind, Vern ahead.