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  Trapped 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