how the locksmith helped, draft 102120120753

you locked the door behind, you what else
could i do? you were young, i wanted more.

in his suicide note K dreamed about
Freddie — admired, envied — never locked

their door. silent, wind and highway light crawling
sharp, i remember you mad against

the white brick wall posed as imperfection.
i had the locksmith come as a favor

he couldn’t have known, what else could he do?
i thanked him with cash, the actor performed.