Fever Dreams

This impassive heat...blistering me...as wandering
through this barren land, impinging impressions soon
to vanish, as sand grains of Gaia drift, sweeping the
deadly bleakness of a desert storm. Fine remnants and an
old fashioned phone, doused in the blood of long forgotten
souls, as buzzards soar high above awaiting even my demise,

as I walk away...a ringing sound, “but how can this be?”
distant phantasmagoria advances my stride, lips sore...
tongue parched of moisture...like a befuddled drunk,
staggering almost to my knees...but still the phone rings,
globules trickle...saltiness stinging my sensitive eyes,

then my vision becoming real...an oasis a relief to the eyes,
crawling to quench my thirst, a welcome watering hole...
wet grasses surround me, my body ponderous, as I collapse
on my back...eyes shut tight, till ripples of light penetrate my
darkness, the Sun blinds my vision, but still the phone rings.

Something stirs within the glade...I watch and wait with bated
breath, blades of grass twitch...fear! I have none, but for the
drone of the buzzards and the telephone that rings in my ears.

Waiting...watching there suddenly appears, standing right in
front of me, a large bright green frog, with large red spots
covering his wet...slimy body. He approaches, then speaks,
“quick get the phone!” he croaks at me. Suddenly the ringing
stops. “Ah!” he says, “too late...one missed call!” The frog
then smiles a big froggy grin, I kissed him, then awoke.