Women charge in

Cast into the forest far above and beyond the castle walls

the expatriate from the patriarchy

rowdy, raunchy, relieved to be free
roughly swaddled in corduroy,
full of garlic and Perrier

laughs his ass off
up high in the fresh blue air, dripping green leaves,
and moist brown bark

as he watches the puny pipsqueak
(mental case, lower case) king
get dethroned
below.

And though the forest has been a little DISenchanted
lately

in the distance                                 he hears

the ringing of caravan bells,
the jingling of bridles,
and the pounding of horses
hooves through the trees

as women ride in
to take charge!

Billionaire Blues

Burying what they were born with
quickly taught to kiss ass, shove women,
men like needy little boys forever.
Money has no face.

The orphanage by the sea

I just drove down here from New York City
couldn’t get the time of day from my family
at that little family reunion, and may I tell you something?
I didn’t really want the whole watch, just the time.

So here I am at this friendly but seedy but clean
seaside motel at Virginia Beach, checking in for the night
or maybe longer. Probably longer, even my car
is giving me dirty looks.

Next, without even changing out of my highway Levis
or the sun to come up,
I’ll go jump in the ocean and float;
it’ll be so soothing to my
better but battered back
and soul.

After that, I’ll come back in here and get online,
I see they have a complimentary lobby computer
so old, the plastic so yellow, I can’t believe they still have it
or that I’m so behind the times that I need it,
and I’ll listen to John Denver all night.

For sweetness
for light
for life
for love
for possibilities
west of here
in a new family
somewhere.

I really will, don’t worry about me.
But first, the Atlantic Ocean.

All those family albums gone
all that scotch tape come undone
out with the tide.

Elevator music

A lonely rainy day—
no real reason to be lonely
except for some stuff that happened
a long time ago, back when I was
from one to four feet tall—
I walked inside the hotel elevator.

It was a new hotel so naturally
I wanted to go up and
see the view from the top.

I stepped in alone and was enveloped
in perfume; a smell so wet and thick
I couldn’t see through it, couldn’t find
the lighted row of floor buttons to push; I inhaled
deeply 
this enveloping perfume
that was mailing me somewhere else.

The elevator door closed.

I oozed through the aroma, it was wetting me down,
weighing me down, filling me up, found
the buttons, and pushed
ROOF.

I wasn’t really in the elevator anymore
not in the hotel anymore
not lonely anymore
nor four feet tall.

I began to speak, right out loud—

Who was she? Where is she?
Oh, boy ... all the people we’ll never meet
or get to know. 

The elevator wasn’t talking.
But when it got to the roof,
it had the instinct to reverse direction
and blink off the floors
one at a time
back down to the
GROUND FLOOR.

Haiku this poem to Cuba

So, no one needs me

Christmas Tree Past, tinsel still flashing; 

But I sure am fun! 

A pine tree (not a pining one) advises—

Me, walking through the woods last night
heavy with tragedy
(me, not the woods)
came to a pine tree, heavy with snow.

It leant down, branch first, asked:
“What’s the matter?”

“It’s sad,” I said, “when a woman you love
falls in love—really loves—someone else.
Don’t you think?”

“No.”

“What!?” 

“You love her, yes?”

“Oh yes,” I said to the pine tree, wanting to climb it.
Or someone.

“Then you care about her, how her happiness goes.”

“But—”

“What?”

“But—”

“What?”

“Ok, I see that. You’re right. Wait a minute—
I think I’m having a realization.”

“Alright, stranger. I’ll stand here and be quiet. I won’t
needle you.”

“Wow! You are right! And I do love her, so ... ”

“Good. Now. It’s time you got out of these woods.
Do you see that merry red glow over on the horizon?”

I saw it.

“Time for you to get back to town.”