April Snow, a haiku

Whenever it snows
in April, I have to smile
a little at life

Anniversary

To miss a thing
that you don't want
back, create a target
then refuse yourself
any means of reaching
it. You stare at it,
target stares back.
A moment hangs
in the still air. Maybe
it's raining, this wet
thing your face becomes.
Nothing happens, nothing
changes; nothing is done
or over. Everything hangs
like a moment in between
non-thought and inaction.
Still- there is you, the target,
the rain, if that's what it is;
a battle that hasn't been
fought again & yet lost again
if that's what it really was.

Looking for Secrtets with Microscopes

I am the secret eye
I explain things
with more questions
than answers. I tell

you there are things
that make up the things
that make up things.
then I show you how

there are smaller things
than that. inner space
follows all the rules
for outer space, only

here I dared show you God
in a particle. You changed
His name to Higgs-Boson
and thought that was that.

Keep looking. I can show
only what you give me
the resolution to reveal.
Give light. I'll find God.

Complications (Revised)

My body and I are a broken clockwork,
we no longer mesh correctly. I'm losing
time, but I feel stretched across it, mind
jetting, body        lagging. I do not know
what time it is, everyday. Finite health
is time through fingers, precious minutes

lost, hours forgotten, body a collection
of hourglass. To know this countdown
of living disabled, body made of alarm
clocks, imagine you are in a dark room.
Time passes, but how much? Is this day?
Night? You don't know. No one can date

stamp it, not even people that spent time
to be doctors. They say hope for calendars,
most days I am time-piece, bleeding minutes.
Main spring? Torsion spring? Who knows
how my body's supposed to work? All I know
is, it doesn't. How do I tell tick tock doctors

my gears grind when I don't speak watchmaker?
They can't know what I know my body knows
Doctor, I am this flawed movement, trapped
inside dented case. I am clock face, probably
set wrong, slowing, losing time as you watch.
If my clockworks worked I'd have more time

to explain it to you. Now, if you ask me again
how I am doing, I will lie,  then check the time
on the watch not on my naked wrist, and say-
apropos of nothing- "Did you know, the insides
of an old watch is called 'the complications'?
Even watchmakers are surprised it all works."

How to Lose a Whole Sunday

spend two hours driving home from an event
that ran into the night. let caffeine carry
you further into early morning. you cannot
sleep. cannot sleep. you think of something,

happened fifteen years ago, what you said;
what you should have said. you run the fight
again, in your head. lose, again, in your head
bruises reappear. the same bruises as before.

nothing's changed. watch a movie you've seen
before. nothing changes. try throwing yourself
at sleep. miss. it's 4am now. decide to masturbate.
decide against it. sleep finally steals you away

you sleep until mid-morning. decide to sleep
a little while longer. it's 2:43 in the afternoon.
reheat yesterday's coffee. consider that old fight
what you should've said. lose a whole Sunday.

Mermaid (rewrite)

Nobody remembers how all seven seas belonged to you,
how both fish and flesh knew your shape.
We have forgotten the true names for the tides,
paving them over
out of the childish need to conquer and ruin
that has marked Mankind for the lost animal
it crawled out of the seas to become.

The moon tribes knew the water songs,
but there aren't enough voices fluid enough
to sing them now. When the shimmering skin
of your waters was cut by the first sailing boats
no one could wonder why you fled that open wound.
Sounding deep for a place to rest you reasoned
"Water-skimmers want to play" you said.
"What real harm could they do?" you said.

But it was a serious game mankind came to play
and they played to win. When the rainbow
of their poisons spread out over the waves,
at first you didn't worry. Your body was vast,
unknowable, seemingly inexhaustible;
too late you realized this danger was too big,
that you'd never lull this to sleep.

You remember sailors used to call you with songs
the most beautiful woman to ever swallow them
whole. Nowadays we laugh at them, mistaking
manatees for mermaids, their want spinning
the salty yarns. But the truth all sailors know
is it was you, riding sea cow-girl above the waves.

Phoenicians and Norsemen, Polynesians and Portuguese-
you had many lovers court you across the centuries.
And every virgin race you took shyly in? You were perfect
and passionate the lover every time. Your only mistake
was you were yourself: giving and abundant,
while also moody... as they say, unfathomable.

Mankind is a spoiled brat. You learned that soon,
but it was already too late. Greedy hands grabbed
at you, taking anything they could find, cursing you
when they lost themselves in your depth. Not seeing
or caring about your thousand, thousand wounds.

When you awoke, you were imprisoned in an aquarium.
That's a place mankind built to exhibit the dying
before they are forever gone. And you are gone,
from ocean and river, pond and puddle, gone or going
quickly. And all mankind can do is shuffle past
your water tank, and mutter "Sorry"
but never once look you in the eye.

And now the oceans are dying.

It was like, once they cut your sea-legs
out from under you, they put you in a bathtub,
helpless. And the rotted drain-plug can't help
but let the water slowly out.
It is in this way, left up to Man,
you would drown on dry land.

Query

what if I just stopped
answering
hypothetical questions?