The path ways twist in their turns over and over… a thread weaved across others… a web of decent indecency… a wisp or is that a wire… a string follows the eye and turns me over and under… possible inn two impossible the probable to the improbable… a simple twist of fate… a quarter turn of the clock… a switch over then under the scent of the hound at the heels… the logic of illogical thought lacks well logic to figure it out… over or under the clock crows once then twice then once more for the wisdom of the aged to come out from behind the door…

Not all wanders end in the same sentence… some words linger in the present and move with us into the future past… the tone of the words begin with letters placed upon letters… the soft refuge of time spills forth into the glass… we sip at the wine and let the influence flow over us… a warmth that flows inside out… at some point the effects stop at the head and we tip to one side or the other… the day rolls on and we sip a bit more until when the tide rises over us we give in to the subtle wave of the motion of the eyes over the sky… sleep with a chance of dreams…