Poem -

Why Kant you tell me the time?

Why Kant you tell me the time?

Father time legendarily and Omni potently
existentially linkedin, binding cradle to grave
since advent of homo sapiens, the whiffed bald credo
an employee most adhere ta have
and keep source of income, subtly graduated punctuality
as necessary benefit extant.

More so thru recent existence
lest one coon sitter themselves a knave
leveraged leitmotif leavened with glissando encomiums,
where most productive worker received plaudits and rave
congenially adroit or trendy tome tinged tiffed fanny tirade
whar tardiness brought “dressing down”, which criticism did invade
the hue man bereft of work to embark venture like a capitalist
And dig up buried treasure at bottom of ocean riches weighed.

History of civilization replete with significance
burden being tethered by the wrist to the clock
fragments of bygone glorious peoples,
which material tracks leads archeologists to flock
painstaking and backbreaking endeavors  
thru layers of soil to sift ad hoc
crude or sophisticated implements
affianced for’er to Chromos, emasculating as dork geek or jock
garnered wrist bound humans since birth
to analog than digital LifeLock
ineluctably hash tagged, kowtowed, and metered
nose pierced oculus rift at any o’clock.

A linear and/or sinusoidal geometric pattern synchronized hubbub to chase
like rat in a cage - describing Primates ascending to face
since dawn of civilization, an inherent place
Mechanistic rubric (wharf oar small, medium at large)bounds human race
artificial construct encompassing genus individual’s kraal space
manifests orbits as mankind forever and anon accrued cutting edge
galvanizing inordinate kickstarter trace
sing eternally elusive grasp as apprized viz “ode to a Grecian Urn”
embossed on Keats poetic vase.

Nostalgia hankers for era when pace of life leisurely soothed by babbling crick
akin to Bing able to kick
back enjoying unrehearsed acts of Mother Nature, who das not rush with a lick
Kit tee split pronto, cuz now the middling class doth feel prod and prick
fancy…ah, how the twenty first century rat race stirs a redolent and quick
where advantage squeezed from every second,
a woeful institutional holistic power rigged rubric
punctual as a star smartly attired to evince caricature shtick
scored sans slip stream time didst tick
tock of fobs gave pause to query fellow citizen to ask one named Ulrich
or a gallivanting lass with a winning smile, thus aptly tagged as Vick
whatsapp pin ning wrought in place of burning candle wick.

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