Where Is That Bisexual Fiction Writer I Met Outside The Gay Bar During Pride Week?

by Kitty Tooher

Where is that bisexual fiction writer
  I met outside the gay bar during
  pride week?
the one who told me my hair made
  me a muse.
how I thought about him only after
  he had left
and how I only think of him now
  because I am outside a bar chain
  smoking
and wondering if someone will find
  me interesting
I can only exist in extremes
entirely adored
or entirely alone
there is no middle ground here--
  where you have the space to think
  about yourself outside the context
  of other people--
I live only in the numb of social
  misunderstandings
and then in the place you go when
  you're too alone to comprehend
  yourself