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.