showed me I was
not in a box of grown technology.
I was assured, and leaning hand on warm-chair meeting met another warm
hand, solitary as my own—the power block, square
as lying.
But that's okay.
It really is. Delete. Delete.
Backspace.
Perhaps all that is changed is my perceptions,
the tech knowledge of me. May i say that?
Out of date, golden as the field is dull
without a fire to crackle the bones
I am.
Yes,
I do miss myself. And all you know of me is what I write.
That is all that I know, too.