I Am a Victim of Telephone

When I lie down to sleep dream the Wishing Well it rings "Have you a new play for the broken down theater?" When I write in my notebook poem it rings "Buster Keaton is under the Brooklyn bridge on Frankfurt and Pearl..." When I unsheathe my skin extend my cock toward someone's thighs fat or          thin, boy or girt Tingaling-"Please get him out of jail... the police are crashing down" When I lift the soupspoon to my lips, the phone on the floor begins         purring "Hello it's me-I'm in the park two broads from Iowa... nowhere to sleep         last night...hit'em in the mouth" When I muse at smoke crawling over the roof outside my street window purifying Eternity with my eye observation of gray vaporous columns in        the sky ring ring "Hello this is Esquire be a dear and finish your political        commitment manifesto" When I listen to radio presidents roaring on the convention floor the phone also chimes in "Rush up to Harlem with us and see the riots" Always the telephone linked to all the hearts of the world beating at once crying my husband's gone my boyfriend's busted forever my poetry was         rejected won't you come over for money and please won't you write me a piece of         bullshit How are you dear can you come to Easthampton we're all here bathing in         the ocean we're all so lonely and I lie back on my palette contemplating $50 phone bill, broke, drowsy,        anxious, my heart fearful of the fingers dialing, the deaths, the        singing of telephone bells ringing at dawn ringing all afternoon ringing up midnight ringing now        forever.