Runaway

I dreamt last night that my father had died.  This is a direct result of the fight we had two weeks ago and the silence that continues to follow it.  I want to do good things and I want to feel good.  I want to drink the wine and smoke the grass of the earth and have sex in $69 hotel rooms.  My Father, he said "he'll never love you."

He'll never love you.

I only try to defend myself when I know that I'm wrong.

My dresses are always a little too short and the only book I've ever written was a series of short stories about the sex I've had.  I smoke cigarettes and I smoke weed and if there's a chance for a shot in the back of a dim bar, you'd better believe I'll be the first one tilting my head back and slamming the glass back on the table.

What if the world were really going to end in 2012?  Would I stop?  Would I go at it even harder?  Would I stop trying to twist his words into something meaningful? 

Would I reconcile with my father?

Would I stay in bed and write poems about all of the Saturday mornings that I'd never get to see?