This is "Traveling Outside."
Truth is eight times old, and this car
goes 3 minutes per hour.
I can't write a poem called man alone.
Bright city lights won't let me, and my craft
is headed back to Earth.
My shields are deeper within than they are wide,
on the outside.
I'm widening my search, and I haven't
found anything of which a time traveler wouldn't approve.
So I go back to the past and wear my best clothes.
Shifts in space make my corpse full of surprises.
I step into it and make everything happen.