Tuba

I woke at 2 AM and poured my heart out, and everything else came with it, even the tears I cried in 4th grade when I'd butchered the tuba and discovered it was, like me, a mass of hollow tubes. Pooling in the bottom of some of them I found foul fluids I presumed to be stagnant spit though some was blood and semen and synovial fluid which I've forgotten the purpose of.  Sometimes in the early morning I am all ears, or rather just one, a fleshy kind of sousaphone that God likes to play when He is drunk which he must be after He thinks of places like North Korea or Rwanda in 94. Sometimes I think He only knows how to play sad songs, or maybe enjoys playing melodies that even He doesn't try to understand. Back in high school a classmate and I locked one of the juniors in a tuba case because after a couple of years we'd had it with the obnoxious motherfucker. That's what God has to do with me too when, for instance, I tell people I want to piss on the late April snow. This morning Jim Harrison had to come along and undo all the latches.