- I’m agent of my creation
Says a conscience of wet stuff;
- My goal’s not procreation
As he drowns in her muff.

Egoistic drive caused the suffering and success,
Its cost though undervalued.
What can one construct his personality on,
Anyway?

It is dissolving away lately,
Far too quickly for my taste.
Faced with the fait accompli,
Will I turn boring, and chaste?

Life’s pulse mayn’t need a hull,
The lineage, the gender, the caste.
I am becoming a raging bull,
Unconscious, determined, a steak.