father dear
never let me find my way home.
let me follow the lost highway
that leads into dark oblivion--
no sodium-arc lights
with bugs around them
to illuminate my passing--
i don't need them anyway.

father dearest
don't give me any money--
i don't need it anyway.
i'll pay the bored old man
with the cracked leather face
in the toll booth
reading a water-spotted copy of Playboy
with my last few dimes.
the cover will say November of 1978.
but i'll know it's really from August of last year.
father darling
i'll be all right.
i'll keep warm is some diner,
drinking burnt coffee
and smoking in silence,
warding of the licentious stares
i get because of my pantyhose.
i'll steal my cigarettes
from the vending maching
when the clerk isn't looking.

i'll find seldom-used paths
in the wild highlands
and beat down some mountain man's door
in the rain.

i'll build a fire
in the middle of a concrete jungle
and write you letters that
i'll never send.

i'll look longingly in boutiques
on Rodeo Drive--
but i won't wish for money.

i'll cherish my isolation
in the middle of crowds,
and adore the warm feeling
in the pit of my stomach
from a vintage Italian red wine.

i'll relish the smell
of litter and loneliness
on my highway with
no sodium-arc lamps.
i'll forget tomorrow and yesterday
forget what i haven't done already
and forget the smell of my favorite perfume

i'll wear my knapsack 
with my notepad inside
with pride.
i'll see road signs for obscure
towns that haven't been settled yet.
i'll think of my destination--
Nowhere Fast--
and know i'll never get there
without forgetting myself and you.

so daddy my love,
forget me and your money,
and be happy in your amnesia,
lack of nothing,
and the fact i have no cigarettes


written 12/10/97