She likes it deep.
She likes it analog.

Ink stains on
sheets of paper.

Wipe away the mess
with typewriter
ribbons
and lace.

Your USB keys
will not survive
the coming apocalypse.

Nothing to plug into.

You might as well
be writing on
toilet
paper.

Meanwhile
the laughing
cave paintings
in France

and drunken
hieroglyphs carved
into
rock
and
stone.

The dubious stain of our existence.