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Routine was the theme. He'd wake up wash and pour himself into uniform.<br>Something he hadn't imagined being.<br>As the merging traffic passed he found himself staring down at his own hands.<br>Not remembering the change. Not recalling the plan. Was it?<br><br>He was okay but wondering about wandering.<br>Was it age by consequence or was he moved by sleight of hand?<br><br>Mondays were made to fall. Lost on a road he knew by heart.<br>It was like a book he read in his sleep. Endlessly.<br>Sometimes he hid in the radio watching other pull into their homes.<br>While he was drifting.<br><br>On a line of his own. Off the line of the side. Bye the by.<br>As dirt turned to sand. As if moved by sleight of hand.<br><br>When he reached the shore of his clip on world he resurfaced to the norm.<br>Organized his few things. His coat and keys.<br>And he knew realizations would have to wait.<br>Till he had more time. More time.<br><br>A time to dream to himself. He waves goodbye to his self.<br>I'll see you on the other side.<br>Another man moved by slight of hand.<br> | 
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