broken chains, circles unwound into lines, spokes being sprung, and the tracks clipped and driven over for replacement, but the cycle is broken, realizing this, understanding this, it's the alarm clock on life, the successful parole hearing, shackled by fate and destiny no more. or, just a trade of one set for another. a jumping of tracks, a change of scenery, the merry-go-round not quite so round anymore. like one of those sponge animals stuck in pill form, dropped in water to expand, to not be held within cellulose cages, with arms wide open, with face upturned, and wind in the hair.