Sleight Of Hand 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