A poet is a bird of unearthly excellence, who escapes from his celestial realm arrives in this world warbling. If we do not cherish him, he spreads his wings and flies back into his homeland.
It is normal for me to wake and find myself writing in the dark.
.. or to be out of my tomb, caught in an unearthly world, alive with the images that haunt me.
Sometimes, I sit down to sketch at the unearthly hour of 3 in the morning!