A story about a purple crayon
comes to mind, the operator cuts in
says "just a minute"...we wait,
starving for moments, a voice inside
whispers (quick! take this purple crayon!)
(it's a children's story, some kid
named Harold slipped out of his window one night)
and you say again "this is costing you a fortune"
the operator reverses the charges
(Harold, in need of a place to jump, drew a line)
"can you hear me alright? this is a lousy connection"
a log collapses in the woodstove, white hot
(drew a purple boat, then a purple sea, a sail)
you're right, it's costing me a fortune
once in a Chinese restaurant
the cookie said "You will become wise."
(Harold licked a finger, tested the wind)
you cough up bitter women "for three days now"
I only hear the sirens, heart attacks
(across the purple sea he drew a shoreline)
there's not enough ways to say it, love hurts
"I have a warm bed now in the basement"
a cold solid slab of candle wax melts
(Harold, far from home, drew a purple door)
this could be a trick, this voice
a fat pudgy hand offering me the crayon
(In the end, Harold wakes up, all a dream)
"we're lucky you know, magic like this"
(beckoning me, he winks.)