Love Is Everything

                                  & nowhere near enough

& something like enough

            love shrugs off
                       the hyperbole habit & the new
life rings in unexpected
            though always it was ours
            to take as time
it does align at last, being
                                             born
            under the sign of a Pythagorean
triangle I want to say it's not my fault
that I just can't
understand what people mean
when they say that they are "simple"
                                             I'm sorry
to say that it's some
what hard to relax under a buckling
ceiling in a closed system
            stained with dinosaur
            tears, the kitchen
            sink
                       it's the same
                       water
on
the floor
we are floored           again
                                  it's the same & some
            what hard to happen local in an
            instant under low-
                       flying planes to combat
licking
            wounds we shower
            twice             daily
            hygiene
                       junkies --

                                  ablutions -- absolution --

#FFFFFF-15
                       bombs
            an academic
solitude, palatial
                       suspensions
            discontinued --
the ever-expanding urban
implodes a concentrated
miniscule room,
reconciles
two sides of self
& world in un-
spoken agreement --

            we sing wholly
            like a little ukulele
            in a Tijuana tunnel

                                  how anyone becomes
                                  a plural noun

hands
cradle
my back
to hold
I am not
in the middle
am not
an average
family
I am
looking
at a man
& at how many
lives a person leads
wondering
& wandering
as we do
often to avoid
dealing with death
in this wired society

we act we name our fears

:: :: :: ::in:: ::relation:: ::be:: ::it:: ::Seattle::
::mind:: ::or:: ::N30:: ::back::::;::
::back::::,:: ::bodies:: ::remix::
::"::::human::::":: ::&:: ::"::::utopia::::"::
::in:: ::environment:: ::or::
::assumed:: ::the::
::deafening:: ::stereo::
::MAY DAY:: ::MAY DAY::
::the:: ::blocked::::-::::out::
::etc::::.:: ::vigil::

::traffic:: ::is:: ::light::

::&:: ::embrace::
::when:: ::we:: ::would:: ::seem::
::motive:: ::&:: ::engrossed:: ::in::
::what:: ::we:: ::are:: ::part:: ::of::
::drum::         ::circles:: :::::

::FREE:: ::PEOPLE::
:: boom:: :: boom:: :: boom:: ::boom::
::NOT:: ::FREE:: ::TRADE::

::reincarnates::
::my:: ::tongue:: ::a:: ::lake::
::on:: ::the:: ::threshold::
::of:: ::the:: ::doorway::
::to:: ::feeling::
::fourteen:: ::years:: ::old::
::&:: ::possible::::,:: ::F15:: ::S26:: ::J21:: ::S29:: ::A7:: ::A15:: ::A29:: ::S2::
::virtual:: ::real::
::&::
            revealed
                                  to a viewer.

                       lose
                                  any
                       thing
            for any
                       being             [this
                                                        space intentionally
                                                                         left
                       an anti-body
                                             "depends upon a"
                                             cell --

                                                        mediated

                                  in the strange
                                  faith
                                  in the unknown
                                  as worth
                                  knowing

This poem is dedicated to
the musician David Daniell
and titled after his album sem,
which was titled after a photograph
of a boxer with one arm.
"Sem" is Portugese for "without."