What happens to the poet when, like, the poetic inspiration, uhh..thing, happens! or, strikes? (hits). Why, the brain of course starts releasing thee endorphins, like, crazy, man! and, at first..lazily? the poem begins to take flight, fluttering mildly,MILDLY! like a kite on the back of the poet who wrote it; and at some point gets to have some form or other, like, like, taking on a definite shape, like an apparition, uhh, of anything! a, a..apple laden driftwood bough in ‘is burnt-out clutch’s, you know, like..like, smell the RAY-BESTOS, dude! like a hot apple pie, purplish, and hazey like; and, so “..did you like the poem?” Like, then, so, like, klik on the LIKE..like. Well! was it good? Nah, meteoric! crash-and-burn, skeletal..tantaliz’d poet’s dry remains, etched on yon lonesome rock! the rest of ‘m in a urn, –Thanks. Thanks for the memories. So! when did poetry first get invented? Or: Could POETRY, like, have even happened, man, without, like, –POE, man? like: Once..upon..a midnight, ahh..whatever. Once upon a midnight..Special! (yeah, that’s it, now you’re doing it),The Midnight Special, –Once upon Thee Midnight Special the night Grand Funk Railroad arrived by railroad, no..make it a train! long, long train; and it began to rain; with thunder and lightning’s and all of the rest of it..then! All at once the groupies files in, fills the T-V studio (CUE:mild din*), waiting for the sound-check to begin..ears to hear, but not for long, screeching notes to lift a song, –PARANOID! stuff’d behind that..plutonian door, amplifiers piled-hi by the score, hit the MUTE forevermore; poor,POOR! hippy-chick she’s toast..Lenore! by now, deaf as a door-nail in that star-studded door, can’t hear nothin’ nevermore, drums..electric gui-tars galore, “Dahh da-dahh..da da-da dahh-ah-ahh!” cranked to 10. This has been a test; and nothing more (add the raven, call it good). So! was it endorphins caused it all, caused the whole thing, body of another great poem to materialize, –shape up? shape of a pill, right?? and ’twas it a better solution to the artist’s quest for ‘Beautiful’, than simply taking..a pharmaceutical? NO! not even the poet’s he’s..deluded, man, deluded from Dilaudid’s dat da doctor, like, prescribed ta help wit passin’ da kidney-stone; an’ a poem, peradventure..portentous scribbles of flea-bitten doggerel, –No Charge! which – it may seem – is like like having an A-I for a muse, or nurse; or girlfriend, whatever..a pill, pill by the kidney-shape swimming pool evermore, aye! ai ‘girlfriend’ so-called I shall call her “..my lost Lenore”, –inna bikini, oy! he’s through, okay, Thee End, –“Happy New Year’s! put on the hats everybody, Yippee!!” (Oy.)