[Lights up on CLAUDE. He's holding a letter, standing.]
We regret to inform you
That your (that place with cream walls and dog hair where warm nights are cracked by
ceilings let you sink into plaid cushions and listen
to your own heart
live safe or sound
loud enough for you) your house home is being forclosed.
Sir, you've missed your payments and refuse to pay your fines in blood and silver as per our demands.
Dear Sir, dear friend, I love you with my lips but I love your money more
And now you've dried up in the Arizona sun
And the leeches have become ravenous.
Dear Sir, we regret to inform you
That your (you know, that person whose soul's entwined with yours
or yours with hers
hard to tell when electric blue
soft landings for tears
that person you love enough to forge the terms for love
and make it real) your wife
is a gold-digging slut and you've wrapped your eyes in rose-colored saran wrap all this time.
Our deepest sympathies for your loss of everything you held dear.
We know it's hard to lose someone,
especially if that someone
But it's good to say goodbye, so remember to wave at your soul
as it leaves you
one piece of furniture at a time.
Remember to laugh at the empty spaces
Reeking with silence of the absent.
It is of utmost importance that you understand how fucked you are.
And how sorry we are to hear it.
If this letter has been sent in error, the error is yours, not ours.
Don't forget to send us your new address in Hell or Detroit, it amounts to the same thing.