Strange, sticky, fragrant juice
spills onto me from a cloudless, sunny sky.
Suddenly my dull mind overflows with ideas
like water through a recently unclogged drain.
Heaven is having its way with me.
My mind tingles with thoughts sent from bored angels
amusing themselves with the mind of a poet.
I'm showered in their oversweet wine.
One flies past me and giggles;
then I hear a voice, find myself in a twisted hammock,
and ponder whether it was a dream.
Then I see the regal purple stains
on my yellow t-shirt,
I fix the hammock and return to sleep
for poets thrive on divine inspiration.