evening spleen

you’re right, okay?

indeed there is

another way

a petty presumption

a yesterday

but what’s it to you,

anyway?

for the evening as

it swallows whole,

my dreaming meaning,

breathing so,

crawls across

these sleepy slopes

in mopey mosey

slouching copes

and while my weary

words for hands

grope about these silly

senseless lands

i find i’ll never

understand

(but that's just

what makes

everything

so grand)