mouth piece 

i went digging in the yard
for the trumpet. there are alarms 
with people names & storms named
after colors of scream. when you eat me
i come out on the other side as 
a pill bug. come & feast with me 
on the rot. i need a really big bowl
of putting. the trumpet is angry 
because i gave up on playing it. 
i am not a ghost prone to music. i guess
that is not true. i sing poorly. i sing poorly
in the car when no one else can see.
a stop light keep blooming right
above my front door. the instrument
always arrives mouthpiece first.
an invitation to scream in another font. 
i realize there has never been an adult
in my life. especially not me. especially not
my parents who are busy in the attic.
let me be clear actually. they are in
separate attics. i am not sure if they
like each other. probably not.
i find a dinosaur & immediately google,
"how much can you sell the bones for?"
the ai overview says, "can you give me 
a picture of your face?" i rage. all i want
is enough money to not feel like i have 
to escape. like something is chasing me
& i am never getting away. the trumpet
can play itself. i have heard it behind 
my eyes. either that or it is my father who has
taken up a new hobby in his old age. 
either way there was actually a time when
i could play a song or two. i would put
my mouth to the sun & blow. turn my face
into a diamond. finally something to barter
with this neon god. i could walk into one of those
gold shops off the high way & say,
"do you play trumpet in here?"