The key is in the lock The lock is in the door The latch can't save my skin But I can't take any more. The fat is in the fire The spark is in the flame The night is young and lovely Yet I am held to blame. The fist is in a clench The iron is in my throat The blood is in my eyes: Life is a bloody joke He sings a song to cops Called Gaijin Are Insane. The baby quietly whimpers: Somethings they never change. The sun comes up so early In this city full of glass And I don't want to die here But I don't see how I can last. The key is in the lock The lock is in the door The latch wont hold forever But I can't take much more.
Such sad and painful memories shared within your poems.
I’m sitting here looking at my houseplants, San Francisco buzzing along on the street, writing this novel and my gorgeous sweet boy is making me supper tonight. Life is good now. I probably need to write more happy stuff. Always good to hear from you.
Hope the novel writing is going well…enjoy dinner.
I am about 1/3 finished, with the entire thing plotted out. It is actually surprisingly light – at least for me. A little supernatural ghost story. Should top out at about 85,000 words. I hope you have a lovely supper too. I am lucky the kid can cook, even if he has to be reminded not to make it super-spicy for me.