Arabia Then from Schiphol to Warsaw and from there to Gdansk then deep
A Poem for out and into deep couth-safe
Sophia,
What to do with this.
And Arabia.
Then from Schiphol to Warsaw,
and from there to Gdansk. There were no honest Christian clerics there. Only ruins of the Dock Workers’ Union remained. Advertisements for a shack. I told the driver to drive me South. It was —15 C. It didn’t get warmer, the road just got darker and the snow heavier. The driver was young and capable. Vast swathes of forest mixed with agricultural planes, and old patched-up shelters—passed, the shelters, one every several kilometers or so, burning coal to keep the inhabitants inside from freezing. It was at least a three-hour drive, across windy, bad roads, and it was past 01:00. The driver knew every turn. He was competent and young and good looking and smart, tall, a little large but not over, and physically fit, fit to be a realist. There were no highways in that part of the country whatsoever. He had to know. I felt
Comfortable and safe in his hands and his jeep-
Powerful 200 horse extended all-wheel deep-groves-groo…
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