Nausea

Tossing and turning,In his little Green Ocean,He felt a hand on his shoulder..Above him,the sky glowed a sinister silver,yet

Spotless blue..A mix of iridescence One cannot describe..He ruffled his feathers,and unzipped his jacket,and Put on a much

warmer woolen overcoat. He dug his hands in deep and pulled out some yellow fragment of a page. It was sort of triangular,but

with slight perforations,flaky-a morsel of a past long forgotten..And he wondered how he could have become such a masochist,

Wandering the moory edges of his imagination..A grey spectral existence..And then he looked down at the grave..His own

wrecked brain had played horse polo with his guts..The rough waters of his thought had played with him,pulling out weedy green

splinters from his once-shiny speedboat..He recalled,and there flashed a rare moment of animal relish at how this had all

come to pass,His name on that grave he saw clearly..And then he shuddered,wiped the corners of his slightly pale mouth,coming

away with vomit,He hadn't done it really,he could never have...