My Amazon parcel lies
on my doorstep like a finger
in the collar bone

drones can’t knock

the packet turns from pine
to walnut in the rain
the droplets are swollen
like they’ve had a taste
of the gear
and I leave it there
the moss rolling off the roofslate
and bouncing down soft
as silicone

My algorithm is pretty pink
as a sated tic
and five billion more
goosemarch in its step,
each year our numbers bloom
like hearty lungfuls
of sickly vape

And it feels good baby
to tickle my stem
like a coked up rat
the lab long forgotten now
we don’t even need

to eat.