"Fissures"

I am an automaton in the future of my life, driving in blinding darkness with half-closed lids. This road a cracked tongue fissures like infinite gaps in the earth, its’ moist, dark tunnel ripe with rot. A river of sticky, blue saliva drips from the ruggulated palate onto the windshield, a prickly heat surrounding me as a fetid breath at my back pushes me into the light. Aleathia Drehmer 2007