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.