The hypnotist’s spiral he/she bid us see with alacrity is oft a twirling backward snake with tail taking lead and head aswiveling roundabout like rapid rotating beacon of old light house Confluent in use for aeons and unbuckled by indifferent whims of winds their incessant crash on rocks wellworn.
So be it. I’ll never see it sung having been brought under into realms of hypnagogic treat til old pal easy chair puts me to sleep.
