The Saddest Piss in the World

I’m standing in a dark closet howling,
screaming like a monkey,
what a monkey sounds like,
what a monkey sounds like on acid,
I’m standing in the dark,
I’m playing the clarinet,
the kind that only plays E Flat,
like a monkey,
playing a clarinet,
like a howler monkey,
in the jungle of the dark.

Somewhere outside the closet,
somewhere in the house presumably,
somewhere is playing the scale,
E Flat on a bass guitar,
up and down, and sideways
faint behind the walls, the door,
faint behind the story,
fall down and knock my head
on the faint,
piece of furniture.

I entered the closet in search
of a worn, disheveled, cardboard box,
of comics,
after seeing my naked father
sneak back into his room,
this is what I’m screaming.

I’m standing in a dark closet, dreaming,
dreaming like a monkey,
what a monkey sounds like,
what a monkey sounds like when it stubs it’s toe.
I’m dreaming in the dark.
I’m playing the cello,
the kind that only plays E Minor,
like a monkey,
playing a clarinet,
like a howler monkey,
in the cello of the dark.

I entered the dreaming in search
of a worn, disheveled, cardboard box
of comics,
after seeing my naked father,
sneak back into his womb,
this is what I’m dreaming.

Somewhere outside the dream,
somewhere in the dark, obviously,
somewhere is playing a drum,
E Minor on the sacrificial skin of a lamb,
chunk, thunk, plunk, spunk,
spunk behind the walls, the door,
spunk behind the dark,
fall down and swallow my spunk
because no-one thought to put a stick in my mouth.

I’m standing in a dark closet, pissing myself,
crying like a monkey,
what a monkey cries like,
what a monkey cries like when it pisses itself.
I’m pissing in the dark.
I’m pissing a dirge,
the saddest piss in the world,
like a monkey,
crying a river,
like a howler monkey,
in the piss of the dark.

I entered the dreaming in search
of a worn, disheveled, cardboard box
of comics,
after seeing my naked father
sneak back into his tomb,
this is what I’m streaming.

Somewhere outside this room,
somewhere outside of this poem,
somewhere is playing their fingers on a chalkboard,
E Flat Minor like a violin,
like a violin with it’s strings too tight,
faint behind the walls of this room,
faint behind this story,
fall down and knock my head,
knock some sense into it,
knock some sense into it,
knock some sense into it.

That box of comics saved my life,
man.