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Everything's better in your instagram
than in my life. when the digital mosquitos bite
you can take them by surprise, into your mouth
and hold them on your tongue like pinpricks,
or sloppy kisses from a lover you didn't like.

When the digital mosquitos come, they come in swarms
they are not itchy but hot and black,
the moment before you faint in Summer
because you forgot your house code
and it is sweltering outside.

Every swipe is a swat at the bloodsuckers--
they come for your information
they come for your encryptions
they will take away your jeans
they will overexpose your photos

I will not let them take my advertisements
I am a fish slipped through the net
and the mosquitos this time are flat gray sharks
with huge bubble eyes, the real brand name sharks
like Great White and Death.

Nor will I accept your overtures, Death,
like hey who isn't coming, that person is a tool
for not coming and dying. I'm dying all over the page
but not because I accepted your date,
not because I like you, because I am datamining my body
into techno-hell. The $17.99 hologram of the virgin mary
ticks, her glow is automated sensation.

The bugs are full of progesterone from gorging on Real mammals,
each day at the same time they arrange themselves in concerntric circles
and fly around our heads.
when the digital mosquitos swarm, it's in the shape of a prison
made of bubbles, light forced through rigid plastic apertures.

Oh no, their legs have all broken off, fragile,
a litter of leaves in Autumn,
grains on the first polaroid I took.
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