Fissures are Us.

The above prompt is from Magpie Tales to whom much thanks

The world is fractured
and here we see the truth of that
made manifest.
The motor car is villain of the piece.
Once inside the metal box
there's nothing of the world outside
but it's reflected face.
Reflections of reflections,
reflections laid upon reflections.
Glass shines like steel
and slices steel, while slivers
of that steel slide back and forth
dissecting glass. Dissection
overtakes the world.
Man
caught in the reflections' crossfire
stands no chance.
A flick of light, a flash
reflected endlessly
and monoliths of steel and concrete
splinter with sharp edges. Fallen shards
are littering the town.

The city might be made of ice,
it breaks the way ice breaks across a pond.
We see a spider's web of cracks.
The cracks run deep
and cannot be repaired.
Only the car escapes decomposition.
The car which should connect us
root to stem to flower or leaf,
becomes the disconnect,
becomes the only world we know
of which we can be sure.
Only the drunkards fail to see the difference
and wander over cracks
that can't be papered over.
The car is such a claustrophobic world,
but small and tight are its two secrets:
small enough to hold its wholeness -
a fortress in this wilderness.