Indian Summer


.
In the black house
Reality mingles
With the sweet, salty blur
Of blue dreams.
.
Rejection of antagonistic security.
.
Stretched
Charged
Attentive…
.
Open like a flower.
.
Describe for me
The color
Of Indian summer.
.
I only see in black and white…
And sometimes shades of gray.

Catherine at the Inlet II, 2014


.
High heeled hips swing
soft, smooth silk.
Lithe origination
looking for rebirth.
.
Smoky…
Rough…
No excuses hard.
.
Resplendent with taught, lissome regeneration.
.
A new statuesque dawning.

Image

Catherine at the Inlet, 2014


.
There is no rest in victory or defeat.
Success or failure holds no riddle.
The way you fight is what makes you…
And the passion in your search for what defines you.

The Big Kahuna

.

Pinky Floyd is kind of loud

and still hasn’t gotten over the fact

that I am drinking

in what he calls a pub

while wearing no shoes.

.

He’s from England, Pinky is.

And everyone wears shoes

in pubs in England.

.

Pinky and I haven’t bought beers for hours.

Whenever someone turns their back

he fills our glasses from their pitcher.

.

And on the other side of me…

Blonde and enticing.

“We’re going next door to dance. ┬áCome with us!” She asks.

“I can’t.” I say.

“Why not?”

“I’m not wearing any shoes.”