You are not a
real poet until you’ve woke up in the middle of night and risen from your bed
and fumbled through the dark to turn on a light and then jotted down some lines
for a poem or an idea for a poem. Having done that, you can go back to bed and
rest easy. Inspiration can come at the oddest or most inconvenient of times but
you are always thankful when it comes. The lines sometimes come fast and
furious, sometimes they don’t come at all. It’s the yin and yang of all things.
Sometimes it comes from a quiet afternoon sitting at a park bench and at other
times it can come from the bottom of a bottle late into the night in a dark bar
full of people with checkered pasts and futures.
