Raindrops pattered through the cord and out the receiver, drenching my eardrum with noise. I sighed wistfully, wisteria plants erupting from my ears, flowering down to my shoulders. I cut the cord, wrenching the phone from the hook, stowing it in my parka pocket. My shoulders sat parked under my parka, feeling clammy from the heat. My hands held the position of clams for a long while, calling out sea songs and seashells, reminiscent of the shore. Long, hollow tones bemoaned a susurrus of a gentle stream. My eyes glowed like firebugs, burning with anguish against the lapping of the water. Teeth gleamed like a battered cutlass under the raw cut of an oak pyre. Funerals for the rain, wakes for the oceans. Coffins for the lightning bugs, caskets for the caterpillars. Mortal imagery conjured in shards. Perceptions shattered by the midnight yards. Disjointed fastenings shorn from memory, gray matter scattering from wide-screen fields of view. Acacia lines patterned the drywall. Sheetrock and laminate littered my skyfall. Buzzards gawked at the height of my hiatus, vultures screeched at the altitude of my zenith. Rays of light cast off evil wards. Death recoiled, reeling from the beacon.

I hung up the phone.