on carsickness

freckled grey trees pass sedately outside
the car-window like soggy saltine crackers,
smearing the world with a phlegmatic
whorl of atrophy. a chalky lump
invades the abdomen--
Plath blurs on her pages--
eyelids clench closed. cold white carsickness
licks in waves, reaching greedy fingers through
the jawbone and the skull.
the backseat floats-- burgundy velour
bloats, arches, shatters into sea-foam fragments
of purple and white. leeching-- lurching-- black
type-print gnarls under shaky fingers.
the sky is too spicy; no grey slice of earth is too bland.
cold fathoms and fathoms curl maliciously
and break snarling in the palm of my torso.
is this what death is like? to be smacked and
sucked by a cold sweat-plague
for loving something? to be sipped clean?
if one thing is certain-- it is carsickness--