[To lie down in still waters of erasure]

To lie down in still waters of erasure, rinsed in noise. Static from old landlines debrides the air, plastic phones in dumps revise their toxic compositions. 300 feet rise from the factory roof, 150 souls are exported from Earth ahead of schedule. Phone rings, wrist lifts, eustachian fluid tilts, a vector communicates, one cell answers, one white note folds up in soft tissue. O when will it come to light? My medium is air, O lung, I am your morbid bride in white veil, white wreath, white cerements, a flower, a novice, and an infiltrate.