-on a periodic nausea of the wall of life

God, I hate nature:
it's your face, your countenance
- it's just too close.

     Listen to the bubbling,
     this industrious din
     of an underwater world.

It's your toes, your feet,
your legs, your body: yourself.
You and me, that's you.

     Read the intestines,
     this plant for ****:
     it feeds the brains.

It's me as you look
in the mirror of my dreams,
strong, brave and untrue.

     This triumph of nature,
     this boasting blubber,
     always on the edge,
     just one step from the abyss.

It's me that is you,
any side is real, a blunt wall;
no room left for me.