i still have to learn how to play guitar again

i fill my old guitar case with thumb tacs & 
strips of gum. stipes of gum are crawling
across my body. there are animals that want
to live here. the raccoon who rubes his hands together
like a theif. my ferris wheel is whirling inside me.
this machine of noise. i want to play guitar again
one day but i keep selling the instrument--
it keep turning into quarters. i pay for my body 
in quarters--three down my throat. i want to sleep
in the guitar case but i'm scared it will become
a coffin what with the rigid sides & the latch.
i carry the case on the train & the ghost
of the guitar sits in the seat across from me.
no one believes me & they sit all over him.
i cry about their sitting. i cry about my own
skeleton. i have friends over & the ferris wheel
tells me to throw myself in front of a train.
i tell that machine that i can't 
because i still have to learn how to play guitar again.
trembling. fireworks under my tongue.
filling the guitar case with trash & hoping
it will form a musical body. i crumple up papers
of bad ideas & stuff them in the guitar case.
i need to bury the guitar case in the ocean
where it can become a wreck & beautiful fish
can make their homes in my ferris wheel.
the creaking of metal. the thumb tacs
spilling into the water. somewhere that guitar
is playing himself--the rusted E string
corroding a finger down to the bone. i want to sleep
long enough so that the earth heals over
like a great big scab-- red martian terrain.
the guitar swallowing music swallowing ocean 
swallowing metal. stomach for quarters.
the scurrying of change. money is money is money.
no one likes you. no one wants to sit inside your
guitar case. what do you want with a word?
stuff your words in to the couch. a fire 
on the windowsill. friends in the living room
covering their eyes-- covering their ears--
they don't see me they don't hear me.
i climb into the guitar case & the tacs dip into my skin
like paint brushes. i miss being a student.
i miss closing the lid & hearing the guitar sing.
where did he go where where. i wish for a pocket large enough
to hold a whole guitar. i wish for the ferris wheel 
on a tuning peg. there is a place to rest 
& it is in my guitar case. the sound of turning.
the sound of tight orange. they're talking about me.