I just did my usual and wrote my Parvati a sonnet.

Either I'm a tightwad and writing a sonnet in the early hours is no different to a dash to the service station for flowers.

Or Coleridge was right and boshing loads of drugs can allow you to enter a state where the Divine will channel His poetry through you to a greater or lesser degree.

{Obviously I wasn't off it enough to go the full Kubla Khan but you can still get the odd little pointer in the right direction.}