A New Wonder Takes New York as Feminine Inertia Overtakes the Alpha Male.

Why Women Have Backed Men into a Corner of Their Own Desire.


Standing mindful as the crowd flows and parts around me

Each conscious unit made alive with eye contact

I become playfully silent

Jest is aroused and I pick certain faces that lie to me

In others generations of generous truth glow in their countenance

Holding my ground I avoid no one

Faces constructed with evolutionary certitude

Each being angelic and faultless in their imperfect beauty

The sound of bodies speechlessly rushing towards fear

The echoes of contrived dialogue fill the silence in the air

The pitted sidewalk absorbs and reflects the stirring footfalls


The stark differences in the curves of gender

For a while there was a frank plumb line into the dark squares of maleness

But this was only a transitory over-compensation

Just as the moon pulls the tides with its silvery brush stroke

A woman’s angst from ages of underestimation

Enters the room with seismic and volcanic brilliance

Poised for an inexorable takeover


Women lead calloused and forlorn men back through offices

Torn apart and reshuffled by a new femininity cascading into the workplace

Objects of testosterone-fueled dominance become vestiges

Retooled archetypes hush and limp forward

The drab gray suits, oversized and threadbare

Intentionally shrunken and miniaturized suits

Sockless ankles and exposed wrists

All this fades into the fog of the fallen alpha male clutching at nothingness

Deflated male laurels are replaced with an intuition proudly displaying a pink hue



Strident with accelerated intuition

The language is transformed as new dominion digs its trench

A novel bespoke figure emerges

Graces the streets with shapely buttery calves

Winking atop the stilettos that carve and gather male attention

The falsetto mixed with hourglass hips and velvet breasts deliver the final nail

A paralyzed freeze of the gushing violent stream thought to be unstoppable


Male voices turn to background static

The white noise that arms a woman’s spirit

Gravel reeked distortion stained with diesel

Buzzing into translucent doors trapped within the parlors

Hung on the wall with knife edge certainty

Bellowing the halls in ordered pronouncements


Now flows on an updraft of feminine handling

Out is coaxed to permanently stay out

Replaced with a new sound

Desirous music fills the bankruptcy and is delivered in its place

On butterfly wings never whispering the past

Moving beyond the chipped stone statues of the cold deacons

Barred from reentering the precious new steeple


This is no longer chance

The volley is positioned on the old boy’s court

In a spot where it cannot be returned

Ceilings crash down

Boardrooms involute on themselves

Emerge solid, retooled and petrified with a cosmic feminine vision

A new guard of female who has no reason to wonder

Yet wonder she does

And this new dialect merges the greater wordsmiths

With a forthrightly channeled emotional intuition

Supplanting the cold binary logic that once ruled

With a beauty and creative genius that dips its toe

Farther and more mysteriously into wonder


Where does it go from here?

What else does it look like?


Just up the street


There is no talk of glass ceilings

A young girl realizes early how to put her male contemporaries on a leash

An invisible lasso that redirects all desires her way

And abandons other pursuits

She sharpens her hook, tightens her line and adds heft to her sinker

This all comes as her gift arriving in her mind without effort or education

A power enlisted by the species’ drive to propagate itself

Distorts and shakes down the male psyche with promises of eternal pleasure

A power impossible to ignore and less likely to resist

A glimpse is all that is needed


A man looks out of his third floor window and watches a woman

It is a blisteringly hot day

She is in the communal garden

Wearing cutoff jean shorts with her buoyant swells peaking under the denim

Blonde with the roundness of a delicate peach

The man’s eyes become tactile

A beauty that blurs thought into touch

As if, in his minds eye, her softness becomes palpably real in his very own hands

A dream that takes too many vivid cues from memory

Conscious life pales in the background and bows with respect to a new reality


She pushes a long shovel down with her foot as she plants tomatoes

Her body thrusts as she presses her foot down on the shovel

Arching her back to lift the dirt

Really giving it her all

Hips and thighs contract rhythmically

Sweat glistens on her neck beneath tousled blonde hair

Small diamond hoop-earrings catch the sunlight with a blinding glare

Braless breasts rise and fall as her T-shirt flutters in the soft breeze

The man is transfixed and can hardly move

She does not notice him

She knows what happens if she is noticed


This continues with erotic industriousness

Smudges of dirt soil her calves and sweat now drips between her breasts

The shape of her breasts become more rounded

Wetness surrounds and amplifies their beauty

The man finds his eyes resting on this sight

Unaware of a moment in time that could be more transcendent


Soon the job is completed

She gathers her implements and walks away

Each stride elegantly pulsing an arousing up-shift in the firm flesh of her derriere

Back and forth

She knew how to send off her sexual energy with metronomic regularity

The motions and curves glistening in the orange-baked sun

He looks at his hands expecting to see something there

She stops at her door and reaches down to pick up her keys under the mat

Her shape assumes the rounded proportions of a love-alien come to rapture him

She disappears into a corner first floor apartment

These images record onto the permanent reel and continue on in his mind forever..