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
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 it’s what he wants to do. Goodbye.

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