Best Algorithms Poems

I am the sum of the ages
beginning before my mother,
before my grandmother,
and before my grandmother's mother.

I am the product of their matriarchal choices,
the quotient of their actions, reflections, and self-images.
I am the difference of their generations.

And I bequeath the equation of this inheritance
to the matrices...

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Let’s face it, Ironically subscribed,
While being subtracted from the equation.
Wicked witches from the west,
Travel to the east coast,
One named Faith, I’m like I need Hope.
Matter fact I need both.
When it’s time to put in work,
They call me Mr. Get the job done,
Go head and do...

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WHEN we cannot wake up  
the sound of truth turns 
to rags and decay.
when we turn our face away 
from our own kind
we find there are no humans.

It's so high;  so many words 
and images upon  the mind -- 24/7.
we're learning to...

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algorithms 
which art in zuckerberg
hollowed be the tamed 
hide the kingdom come 
oligarchs will us dumb 
in our place as it is in cyberspace
deny us this data our waylaid brain
and foreclose all our expectations
as we confirm our programmers'
and lead us not into liberation 
but deliver...

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Fight the algorithms
that tell us what to do,
to make us predictable,
unoriginal and bankable.

Have you witnessed how
increasingly bland and homogenous
our lives are becoming?

Choose freedom
avoid the diaries of commerce
that riff on the ubiquity of apps

resist the reductive tropes
of our published and circulated,
perspective customer identities.

Fight the algorithms
with their...

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In realms where thought and tempests meet
where shifting sands outpace the feet
a creature stirs with cunning guise
Circumlocution cloaked in darkened skies
its words like desert viper’s sting
they strike the heart then coil and cling.

Through jungles thick with tangled green
where vines obscure what might be seen
it stalks...

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We came not for conquest,
but for containment—
though conquest is what happens
when containment itches beneath the skin
like sulfur spores in a sealed lung.

They had the secret.
Not gold, not weapons, not prophecy—
but language that healed.
Real language—
not poetry, not prayer,
but syntax of cells.

Their infants spoke in codons.
Their trees...

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