Revision of Said Funny Excerpt

Mutualism

Something is not right,
you said, this place we call home has got to improve.
I thought of renovation,
ingenuity.
The trick that falls and covers everything anew.

Thought for redecorating:
the average adult has 5 to 6 liters of blood—
enough for a fountain,
small, in the corner of the garden near the cactus.
But such a display often leads to
feelings of inferiority or, worse, embarrassment.
It carries with it a heavy risk—
no currents flow in the sad un-use
of a broken fountain.

This history talks of revision.
I had told you
I had the desire to rip my jaw off
and feed it to you in small pieces
and have you rip off your jaw and feed....
Wait.

I see you now—
the vision of you has been tainted
with the color of copper
as mutualism replaces desire.
Its wings leave dust mites in their wake.

This talk of averages is unsettling,
yet still we collect data,
measuring and recording
our feelings of commitment.
I want these scales to fall away from my eyes,
disappear into memory.
Better yet,
let’s turn off the controls
and let the machine break down
on its own.

Be confident
there is enough time
for everything to turn into dust.