Word surgery

I read the Word, I read the Word out loud
I asked, Please make your meaning clear,
it hovers in a cloud of gossamer
that algorithm rudely sweeps away.

I held the Word, I held it to my breast
and found to my surprise the Word made flesh
to dwell among us, or at least among the ones
for whom the Word was good.

And it was good, oh yes my children,
it was good. It gave a meaning
to the sentences of life, and turned prosaic thought
to poetry.

But now they cut the Word, they copy and they paste
it to my flesh. The Word is written red
and bloody, jumbled inarticulate
a Babel babble for the age.