The Last True Enchanter

Elan Mudrow

Henry Harewood Robinson Henry Harewood Robinson

On nights like these,

I’m a-sounding like the sublime

Notes that fly.

The inner voices to the outer ear

One with all energies around me

Including the audience’s reaction

To my flight, we are together

Inside our own jet stream

Then, silence. The smell

Of abandoned alcohol and

A stale lover’s quarrel swell

I get a free beer and no money

Been doing these spells for decades

That’s a hell of a lot of beer

No money

So now, I gotta steal my licks to eat

From magicians I love

But, as I scrape the pot for burnt offerings

I begin to hate my thievery

It digs a hole in my gut…as I utter

The bluest of tones comprised of lonely flatted fifths

Bent thirds that shiver through my angry spine

Shaping me into a junkie for….

The vibration of my instrument

Soothing me

Into a…

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