when I'm crashing into bed
it's not that I'm not writing,
but it's not poetry in my head...
when the harkenswing does lumber past
and the jabberwock does flutter,
when the vorporal sword goes snicker-snack
and the kingdom's run out of butter,
when the magic's gone all fizzy
and logic's flown the coop,
when the crumbs have all been eaten
and you've evaporated the soup,
when you're making the man proud
even though he's long dead,
you know you're doing something right
when escher shakes his head.