Between Here & There

for Brandon Goacher I. Let me speak with expressive hesitation & a feeling for interment why even lineate what isn’t broken by music let me speak with inextricable reluctance. I want to tear the heart from refused convalescence & feed it those long fronds of river bed grass. I want to tear the heart out of style & put it between utter thrall & the infancy of all things impure. Torn out, a flame thickens between us as if not right now we’ll be ripped from this life or each other a white lie not a little more tender than quick. Inextricable reluctance to die or even leave youth culture ever. What a stupid feeling. Do you think it isn’t true? The very existence of flame throwers proves that sometime, somewhere, someone said to themselves ‘You know I want to set those people over there on fire but I’m just not close enough to get the job done.’ Someone puts their arms around you in the cold. There’s an al- most disquieting closeness as gossamer clots & becomes an impasto derivative of some newly visible interdependence. Flame throwers then are just a description of prevailing ideology, relics, the life of the party, a soul flirts by burning that name for itself up in jonesing that comes at the end of desire? Well I wouldn’t know about that. A little goat. Why would it nuzzle dreamily up the way I nuzzle dreamily up to my knees. In the ‘fatal position’ as my nephew used to call it estranged from play waiting on the fox hunt. Oh baby it beats up my lips the somatic effects of contriving a psychic blockade against death with the contours of your face & healing in constant eclipse where all things inextricably broken by music make the basic rhythmic unit go something like this — I don’t want to loose you. I don’t want to be empty, clever hold & keep you.I was lost to you to start with still I keep on coming back. Do you think you’ll keep on coming back to me forever?That’s the meaning of our life together baby.