Conversations Among the Ruins

Last night she
showed me hilarious
pictures from her life

as a club kid in
Hollywood during
the early

nineteen nineties.
Today she has
chin length

blonde hair, big
blue eyes and a
loud laugh that

inhibits.
In the picture her
hair is black,
she wears white

contact lenses and
pink blush around
her eyes.

Fishnet tights and
black and white ten
inch moon boots,

this is the girl
that didn't cover
the spider tattoos

on her shoulder blades
like she does
today.

We cackle
like coyotes

at the photos.

"Badger it's
too bad you don't
drink anymore."

She says. I know
that her and I would
have a great

friendship, going out
to everywhere and
gabbing over martinis.

I think she is interesting
and hilarious and good
company.

But I've had hundreds
of girlfriends
just like her.

Chicks to sit
at the bar with
which makes for a hell
of a facebook friend count.

But I don't know
any of them today

except for their
names and the city
they live in and which

4:00 bar they go to
after last call from the
one they're at.

Sometimes
I'm in a place where

I realize that I don't
know a goddamn thing
about how to have

relationships.

I am generally
at my best, alone
in front of a screen

with Penelope,
my dachshund puppy
curled in my lap

like a dreaming
bunt cake.

"It gets lonely"

I was always taught.

I would never accept
myself as a person
sitting at a bar or

going to a club
in my spare time

because I enjoy it.
I refuse to live in
circles but it's painful

to see so clearly
through myself through
everybody

else.