I'm trying to be a poet on the edge of time,  the world has gone mad, and I'm not an angel.
I own a small store downtown. I sell masks, coverings, dark spaces,  black holes.
My basement is full of wonders. Pilgrims appear at my door to traverse into a parallel world.
My mermaids will guide them through a mysterious ocean.
I sell dreams to the hopeless, to the murderers, and to the unwanted.
I wash them. I give them a new mask, I color their skin, and I send them out there.
My door will unlock for those, and my heart will welcome the undesired.
I'm trying to be a poet, but I don't hold a pencil, and I don't own a book.