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

About the author

Eric

Eric Jennings is a poet, an invocateur, an accidental yogi and he dabbles in patamysticism which is the spiritual branch of pataphysics.

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Eric Jennings

My name is Eric Jennings and this is one of my poetry and writing blogs. I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse and most of the work on this site is borne from those experiences.

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