by Michael Bettencourt

Created on: July 04, 2008

HOTLINE CONVERSATION

Why go on?
I mean,
in other words,
why set the head
to go off in the morning?
Why not off
the head set?
What? I can't hear you.
I'm funny?
What?
It just doesn't add up,
does not compute.
Oh, well,
I just
want
to
end
it
all.
Yes, all.
What's "all"?
The helloes of certain tongues,
tight sentences in
the posset of a poem,
grass, newel posts, dried fruit...
I can't go on.

No, not that, goddamit!
The names, man,
don't you ever worry about
the names?
There's so many names!
Everything has a name if we
could only stop
and
see
it.
If I could name all
we'd be here until
the phone lines
evolved into
ears and
tongues and
we wouldn't need them
anymore because they'd
be telling all the secrets
they knew and we'd know them.
What? Why don't I continue?
Ya know, man,
I'm just doin' this
for a poem.
Yeah, that's right!
You'll be famous,
the other end of the line
in this monologue -
you'll be worth diamonds!
I'll break your face
into diamonds.
Anger? Yeah.
Self-destruction? Yeah.
Self-esteem?
Wrong names, man.
Mint sauce, abacus, rapture -
those are names,
acids for etchings.
Want to see my etchings?
Gotta go.
No, man, what's your name?
I'd like your help,
but I think I'll help you
instead.
Listen:
quake, paladin, monk,
cortex, alcohol, zero,
lickerish -
there's the rest of the alphabet,
there's the rest of the world.
Two names before
you sleep at night
and say them
in the a.m. -
that's my prescription
for hanging on.
Yeah, I feel better.
I think I'll
eat me some names
for tomorrow.
Yeah, tomorrow,
that's right.
Thanks
for the poem.

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