Dr
Faustus and Hephaestus round out his trio
almost
everyone
had
the same dream
last
night
there
was going to be
a
free show behind
the
red barn
of
farmer dig the bones
because
most towns
forget
how they
made
dancing
an
illegal description
of
movement
people
never realized
they
milled about
as nondescript
bundles
of hay
left
in the fields
statues
silhouettes
joyful
once
he
spent the daytime
fast
tracking the Sun
there
were birds outside
with
the wind acting coy
as
he waited for twilight
in
a sleeveless
crept
organ blues
he
towed a Hammond B3
on
castor wheels
solar
panel ears
speakers
affixed
as
if a mouth and tail
the
wails of pleasure
are
always symphonies
and
here they are
subject
to taxing
your
hips dip
you
bob and move
in
shuffle step tricks
pretending
it isn’t fun
they
call this
dancing
music
the
maestro cloaked
with
shadows
bellies
out half laughing
half
discerning whether
this
is better than
the
regular gig
with
the circus traveling train
there
are no posters
no
promotions
just
town after town
down
in chains
and
frowns wondering
if
it is okay to dance again
Mephistopheles
became
a
serial musician
plugged
into the sorrow
of
a humanity losing touch
with
music, art and
the
nature of being frail
and
divine
he
no longer collects
souls
of the damned
rather
he uses
the
growls
bumps
and grinds
of
his music to provide
an
opportunity
to
break their bind of metal
with
what butterflies crawl out
from
their chrysalises for
EJR
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