We Write in the Evening by Aad de Gids

we write in the evening and those slowly builded sentences create

a world not in the ludicrous sense of creationism and haughtily

shaking on the ankles of the world or humanitee as something special

bc we’re just garbage alone not perhaps in making geiger teller sensing

probing for yet, empathy

it is good to “not being able to” the “why question” is famous and keeps

being unanswerable so “what happened” and “how do you feel” replace

that question for easier and a more fluent dynamic we write in the evening

contours of shadows and shaky flusterings of foliage the acid jazz police

does rounds in the quatorzième

we write in the morning where already a night again went over it yet

it is only astrophysical that this shall seep in our poetry the huge tidals

of the universe cyclicity open towards all sides, diurnal “hin und wieder”

but in variousest of ways what with exoplanets make difference in time

unschedulity and unruliness

writing in the afternoon and budding budding sentences enfold in slant

light as the words seem to wave with any surf and almost aside ascribe

things whereas it also doesn’t matter what comes and goes as all is

fluidly suffused with feeling, emotionsatiation landstretches of fallen

sentiments sediments sentiments