For Simon

If I could die with Cloud Cult
still ringing in my ears
I'd bring gently the resounding harvest
out from in my mind
and be holding the world's peace
to greet the space beyond.

Walk with a phantom's gait, I would
next to the thousands who stroll with 'defeat'
painted on their foreheads.
and from the harvest, the food of my soul
I'd offer them a meal to take, kiss painted skin
and into their eyes a thousand wishes for bliss.

Blast up, an ascension to blackness, swallow the cold of death's new challenge
accept undoing and deny my silence
undone I'm new and able to sing
drain my mind into cold nothing,
the space between a billion suns,
surrounded with dusty spiral jewels of life,
in slow spins so far away
I wet my fingertips with my tears and reach,
I want it all to drink of the life I've ended and begun.

Write the story of an unworthy species
on the skin of an unworthy man,
i'll read the story alone in the blackness,
arriving at oblivion with hope in my prose.
draw the music from my ears.
a dancing fool between the stars
brings beauty from earth, proof of life in the cold
from the hostages below
there is life there, running away now,
out forever into the darkness,
and it sings,
of the meaning of 8.

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