For my little sparrow, or grasshopper:

Gabriel Blows His Brains Out

I’m playing a trumpet on barren highlands and am blowing as hard I can. Saliva is pouring out the spit valve. The C note is off key. I am blowing harder than I ever have before. My front teeth start to loosen, and then all my other teeth, but I can’t take my lips off the trumpet. My front teeth fly off, and then all the others, and I heard them ramble in the twists and twirls of the tubes of the trumpet. They shoot out of the trumpet like cannon balls, towards the mountains in the distance and they collide and make them crumble. Then I feel my tongue starting to slide through the mouth piece. It snakes out, and my intestines follow. They all drizzle out like confetti. Then my blood comes out and fills the valleys below. My bones come out as powder and paint the sky white. Then all that is left is my skin, but it isn't getting sucked in. I’m still standing, or floating maybe, on the hill, not a skeleton, just a caricature. Then trumpet turns to gold and smolders, after finally leaving my lips, and floats up and explodes into the sun. 


(This was a frightening night-day dream that left me scrambling for a pen and pad at 2 p.m.)