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Africa Box

Africa Box rattling, rolling

dirt-dried ruckus; regardless,

levitating over the impassable,

renegade rear-wheel drive.


And scorching heat, heart-heat,

from real driving wind,

forcing the face backwards:


the direction of exhausted

plumes careening indistinct,

shunning road and rail and rock,

riveting together the purposeful

and the beautiful and the battered

ingenious chaos engine;

submerged or conflagrant

or straining to summit Suswa

or some more sensible objective,


it matters not to the

Africa Box, rolling, rattling.

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