Indian Summer

In the black house
Reality mingles
With the sweet, salty blur
Of blue dreams.
Rejection of antagonistic security.
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.
No excuses hard.
Resplendent with taught, lissome regeneration.
A new statuesque dawning.


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.”