I Am In Here

Two instruments: piano and saxophone.
"Truth is, I could use some help."
The saxophone never sounds like a saxophone,
more like a violin. Sawing, moving in runs.
"The worst part was how I kept losing time."
The young professor flicks his hand to the high
end of the keys, a quick, sharp needle-prick.
In one repetition he errs. No one notices.
"The bathtub had an inch of standing
water in it, rusty-looking, moving around my feet."
Now the saxophone starts emitting feedback tones.
"I went through a lot of shit when I was young,
and it's given me a really positive outlook on life."
The young professor's hands move as if stuck
outside a car window, running over a current of air.
"No, it's great. I just never knew what I was missing out on."
There's metal on the piano strings.
"The whole other-people thing."
Cymbals. Cymbals.
"I would wake up in these strange places. In a chair.
Slumped against the wall. In the shower, with the water running. "
The saxophone twangs. Abruptly, things come to a stop.
"I could have done it if I'd just been able to concentrate."
The bend in the saxophone sounds like whale song.
"You never realize how much safety means until you
stop being able to take it for granted."
The piano draws deep and tolls, like out-of-tune church bells
on a bleak Christmas morning, slandered by fog.