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.