Clouds of unhappiness still persist in the unseen mesh that draws around everything

"Yes, in the long run there is something to be said for these shiftless days, each distilling its drop of poison until the cup is full; there is something to be said for them because there is no escaping them."

From "The System" by John Ashbery, which only exists in copies of Three Poems (and collections, I guess) but not on the internet. I somehow found Ashbery's star chart (???) so, um, yeah. There's that.