The Shell


My vehicle is small.

It's weak.  I built it 

Myself.

From pieces of the past,

Designed by pure reason.


It's slow, this vehicle

of mine.  It shudders as 

    others

Pass. But it holds.

I patch it by the present turned

Past.


It takes any road, any river.

It eeks its path out slowly.

But it will arrive


3/14/83

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