Sometimes when I write a poem in the middle of the night, I'm deluded into thinking it's good. A particular good line or humorous passage makes me believe that I've hit on something. Occasionally, I even submit the poem to a journal that night, so confident I am that it's a great piece of work.
Unfortunately, what I find out in the dead light of morning is that it's just not very good. The lines are a little too familiar. There might be a grammatical error or two. I'm usually aghast that this has happened, that I was fooled by a poem. I promised myself that next time it won't happen again. I'll be sober, even inside the darkness. And it always happens again....
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