Laced together, chips of fear and faith crush,
fall and dissolve in my palms.
I want to be the innocent of that ignorant paradox,
the one when thesauruses roamed the earth.
I used to be a typewriter, pushing with muscle and flesh.
But I have fallen on an auto-piloted intellect,
technological, illogical fix.
You can’t blame me for wanting to vindicate you.
I know how it is, to not even know.