I’m tired of trees:
made into totems,
banal demarcations
of your turf
mycelium: we are
your fruits,
at the crossroads of symbiotic
and parasitic futures
bathwater-babies: we are
its impulse,
of stop or pull the plug
diminishing returns, sunken costs
unbecoming human: we are
its cusp, of circular economics
or linear infinity up, up, up
to shed the beast yet layer the animal
I’m rejuvenated: with trees
made me their totem;
bananas feeding demon
on their turf
—animasuri’22