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.
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.
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.
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.