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lyrics

And if I'm hard to find, I'll still be here among the alleyways and willows watching fireflies adorn across the street with tiny silent bursts of emerald. Reminds me of the time before I got too old to hold onto even an inch of innocence, before my youth was spent on common sense and non-events, reliving instances in which my racing heart rate would reverberate throughout the universe for centuries. But the echo's getting weak, and so we walk through paths of aftermaths, disasters that leave cities flat, providing us a backdrop of structural crumble. The rubble looks inviting right behind your cotton candy eyes. But it was lovely standing next to you and so we set our heads to hovering and head into the wretchedness, and hopefully someday I can erase the gleaming, glassish case that covers up your classic face, the kind that every boyish voice before the summer sings its praise.
And with these lines, I send this moment out like sonar through the centuries so that they may illuminate the labyrinth of history where skeletons lie scattered all around, and where, somewhere, a town of pestilent peasants stands staring at the same celestial crescent that I stare at some nights so I can shrug at being subjected to subcultures and urban mergers. Somehow I had once beleived these trifles were considered urgent. What we need are certain subtle changes in the scenery so we can concentrate on something other than these monolithic monstrosities that we've so willingly unleashed upon our own species. Let's be slow moving specks upon an atlas, you and me, and then pretend that we're a satellite assigned to watch ourselves from outer space as we go milimetering through major cities late at night on some abandoned stretch of interstate that doesn't end until the sea. So until that day arrives, I'll still be here among the alleyways and willow trees...
And with these lines, my spirit spirals out among the fireflies, and dances throught the branches and expands until it fills the sky.
And with these lines, your poet for tonight steps lightly off the stage, a tiny bit more humble than he was when he began the day.

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from The Ides of Spring, released May 13, 2007

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Luna Moth Arcata, California

Entheogenic love mantras/surfing into dissonance

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