Dear Old Stockholm,
There are nameless graves inside my desk. I might look for you there, but I
never found you. Were you ever there at all? They said they buried you. Along with a box
of matches. To help light your way.
But they are all liars, dobbs. Every last one of them. They are constantly talking in the
drawer. I come there to sleep now. Lullabies of past lives and forgotten names.
I miss the trees, dobbs. Where I used to hang my gin and tonics by the thread of her hair.
I don’t know what happened to her I think she drowned in River City. With the rats. Three
were just too many of them. Trying to claw to higher ground. You should have seen her skin.
Red tears oozing into the water.
Then came the shark. They tookmy arm when I reached for her. It still hurts soemtimes. Stay
with me here dobbs, and don’t believe everything you read. It’s the snakes you really have
to worry about. Right on the front page. That’s how they got into your home. The heart
attack. At first, they just called it a phobia. A defect in the muscle. Since birth. The
dawn of existence. I think it’s the ink. OSHA came tor warn us about it. With a word search
But I was told it was something more personal. My name in letter I didn’t recognize. Right
next to fire extinguisher. And a snake coiling around a boy’s neck.
I put his obituary in the paper today. It said he had a sister who died under similar
circumstances. Both to be burried on Tuesday.
Whatever you do, don’t use the matches.
I
I’m sending you a few eulogies I found in my desk. I hope they’re not yours.
I Hope they’re not Mine.
I’ll try to dig you up next time there is new construction.
–Rock Hudson
