Richard Brautigan calls the Poetry Crisis Line

COUNSELOR: Poetry Crisis Line, what is your emergency?

CALLER: He wants to build you a house

COUNSELOR: He does? Who does? What kind of house? Wood? Brick? 3D printed?

CALLER: out of your own bones

COUNSELOR: What? But–

CALLER: but / that’s where you’re living / any way!

COUNSELOR: Exactly. I mean–

CALLER: The next time he calls

COUNSELOR: Wait–you mean he’s called here before?

CALLER: you answer the telephone

COUNSELOR: Of course. That’s the job.

CALLER: with the / sound of your grandmother being / born.

COUNSELOR: Uh, I don’t think I was there for that. I mean, how–

CALLER: It was a twenty-three hour / labor

COUNSELOR: I think I’d remember a call that long.

CALLER: in 1894.

COUNSELOR: He must have me confused with somebody else. I only started here in August.

CALLER: He hangs / up.

COUNSELOR: Well, that’s his right, if that’s what he wants to do. Goodbye.

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