[Old Professer]

I remember nights like that when the muse spoke and I listened and wrote and the words came smooth and clear but never survived the morning light; but then I didn't get published.

[snarks_when_bored]

For some reason, I'm reminded of Charles Bukowski ("To all my friends!"):

The Look
I once bought a toy rabbit
at a department store
and now he sits and ponders
me with pink sheer eyes:

He wants golfballs and glass walls.
I want quiet thunder.

Our disappointment sits between us.