clock of the long now
i come from good stock, customer & scale like a river: binding crisp & square: clear provenance: no opaque
functionality. you can patch me with bronze age tools or feedback. take cover, customer: my sulk is as bulky as
weather. take five to see bright. take the worthy parts out. if i bring a history, it’s ten millennia & begins with
the future: bands playing sleep numbers: mill’s mess orbiting ecuador: customer joy directed towards an exit
elsewhere. my father’s job was saluting. his vertical shelf-wear & shadowing from in-flaps to endpapers my
annulment. i’m the king who arrived by horse & left with a guitar. the theatre of my increase: taking the least
for longer. this the reverie of robots, customer, in the 19th year since wainwright: the nth degree: whizzing
your experience. i believe in thor: in lawn ducks: intuitive customer buys: your dark & stormy, customer,
served with sugary garnish. i am wound by the sun: by heat thru synthetic sapphire. my pendulum lives in a
mountain. my heart: a song machine sorting no two alike to no one listening. each song dedicated to you, my
love, my customer. my hobby is the last mile. even with taxes big as texas: big as whiskey: log trucks clearing
customer delays: replenishment in moon time: terrestrial time: no time flat. i’m in favor of fulfillment engines.
my response to long-term asking is bristlecone pines. i’ve divined tidal drag & crust shift: ice or no ice at the
poles: , customer: your rete algorithm. i am one-click &
prime. your tomorrow waiting with less wait time. your worship has climbed around me, but i’m your wish list,
customer. your wish is my command.
Ken Taylor
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