poems about technology

Her Algorithm
has teeth
fangs, really
like the kind you see
in nightmares,
and its fur is
black and sharp
like a worn carpet
tread in worry and fear,
with small fibers
that pierce the skin
and stick like burrs.

Her Algorithm
has firm, strong legs
and claws that dig in
and hold fast
to a path
she didn’t even realize
she was walking down,
until she’s so far deep
and running at such a clip
all she can see is
the hot steamy breath
of her Algorithm,
the gates of hell
like a flaming blur.

and there’s nothing
a cute purring kitten
or craft project can do
but watch from the sidebar
and wait their turn
until the Algorithm
catches sight
of something
more interesting
and follows its scent
down a rabbit hole
of obscure poetry,
trendy dance moves,
and weird fashion from a
1970s JCPenney catalog
that turns her Algorithm
a shaggy, avocado green.

Photo and Poem ©2025 Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Chronos Weeps

What happened to the shape of days?

The slow unfolding of dawn, the clear delineation of time — beginning, end, respite

that marked space for pursuits of gods — Hypnos, Eros, Hephaestus. (Though rarely in that order.)

Our haloed mechanisms godlike now — omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient.

Hey Siri: Who is Hephaestus?

And so we worship false gods, bow down to their divine scheme,

keep talismans close at hand for fear to miss their callings

their new demands of sacrifice — silence, sabbath, solitude.

I fear they’ve killed Atlas, too, left our world spinning

without the stars to guide us,

without the sun and shadow, our shape of days

and time.