The Push, the Pull, the Encore

ignorance is the moment, the three seconds or so, when you awake.
beauty is a place we travel to inside out head
love is another name for tomorrow
tomorrow is the reason we go to sleep
sleep is a vehicle, not unlike the airplane
tears are feelings trying to escape Alcatraz
silence is Alcatraz
art is a loud orator
hands are two basketball teams
pressure is a junction we pass through
anxiety is when the car needs oil
healing is a possibility
and words are simply words
when alone

i was mistaken for a metaphor
and that left a mark
so now i cross the street when walking towards a person
who might be in the mood to talk

dark brown gray slush mud
sneaker tread no match
as i push my leg through that slosh
and press my body against cold dirty metal
just to get the smallest budge
this ain't progress
it's me
not this car
i keep steering towards this ditch
and here i am again
i have to blame me
it's time to take it out of first
and find a new gear

don't lower your theater curtain if it's just ambivalence in a red shade,
don't project your movie if it's just another clever scene to slowly fade,
just give me your butter from the popcorn and i won't be bored,
and i'll sit in this dark theater alone for days waiting for the encore.