Routine was the theme He`d wake up, wash and pour himself into uniform Something he hadn`t imagined being As the merging traffic passed He found himself staring down At his own hands Not remembering the change Not recalling the plan Was it…?
He was okay But wondering About wandering Was it age? By consequence? Or was he moved sleight of hand?
Mondays were made to fall Lost on a road he knew by heart It was like a book he read in his sleep, endlessly Sometimes he hid in his radio Watching others pull into their homes While he was drifting
On a line Of his own Off the line Off the side By the by As dirt turned to sand As if moved by sleight of hand
When he reached the shore of his clip-on world He resurfaced to the norm Organized his few things, his coat and keys Any new realizations would have to wait Till he had more time More time
A time to dream To himself He waves goodbye To himself I`ll see you on the other side Another man moved by sleight of hand
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