The piperThe PiperHis voice could charm a nation, the man with a child's eyes,he would run with demons and die in their embrace,and he never felt a thing.He's a piper, they say, taming souls with a smile and a brandy snifter, long nightsof tunnel eyes and tendril fingerswith the spiced scent ofbirdsong left on sleeves.They lost electricity the night he left,the leavetakers stayed to watch ascellophane hips gravitated towards his wayward hello.Silver-tongued and half-mast,he landed face-down and splintered,a hitchhiker with Midas fingersand Appalachian shoulderswith no rope to tether his anchor to.Between conve