Elevator
The lights that are alive
Beam my mind in knots
Fishbowled on an elevator, brushing beanstalk men in black
Eyes up; I'm stubbed and trapped in my panicked plight
One tips his topper and says “the galaxy is behind you”
I didn't know what to make of it, yet felt profoundly moved
Then an alarm licked my ear and climbed inside my bones
In solace I try to remember: who, how and what and why
Oh, that's the shape of dreaming, floors morph into skies
Later on I came to see, the voice was mine in guise
Validating subconscious truths, from another mouth and eyes
Were we stagnantly still, or soaring on the rise, or to demise?
Or were we always moving like the lights that are alive?
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