Within the wheel I steal a disk, raise the dust, lick the stick and flick the switch. Beneath me clocks tick, waves flip a ship, splashing the wrist holding the drink I sip. Beholden to the wooded walk and beholden to the tunnel fly, beholden to the wouldn’t talk, respect an exit and enter I. And despite the choice devoid of noise and poised to void my previous voice. My choice that points to choose to loose the noose rots me still within my joints. The coins I cast defend my ends, from unnatural bends among the consorts in lions dens. And to those trends and those who worship them I write lines in tens with timeless pens.