If you dare, come to the dream-seller's store

It's filled with inspiration, gold and hope

She'll sell you a good future, maybe more

Tied up with string or silver chains or rope.

It's where I found this poem and it's words,

In the pages of a book I did not write.

It's a song nobody here has ever heard

strung up with threads of gold and ghostly white.

It's a power which is mine and mine alone

Something I gained from days of pen and paper

from fine champage and roses and cologne

from midnight walks and cold water vapor.

These words are mine, I own all their power-

It grows stronger in me with each hour.


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