A poem starting with a line from Poem for Passengers by M. Zapruder and ‘writely‘ molested by Shakespeare (unlikely, but possible)
A 33 Word Poem
Like strangers on a train
who find themselves moving
in same directions,
looking out the window
without downing books,
thus Fate, that strumpet,
doth but feign
to keep our margins
free of stain.
It's Still Life 
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