Happiness is the touch of my fingertip on your bowed-out lip.  
It’s the way that trying something new doesn’t feel like a monster with you.
It's letting the world have me, arms open, falling. Without censorship.


It’s breathing into the world, past the artificial growth of moist woodchips,  
And instead, to toppling trees and roaring forest fires that are sometimes considered overdue.
Happiness is the touch of my fingertip on your bowed-out lip.  


Sometimes things have to die to be made anew. Like an eclipse.
That’s how it feels with you.  
So new that I’m rhyming in my poetry. Like a horror story. . . without censorship.


Happiness is the touch of my fingertip on your bowed-out lip  
Or a framed portrait of a happy ending, but drawn only in baby blue.
I’m holding the feeling on my chest and watching you cradle it like a silk slip


Or a baby birds nest. You might drop it
And if you did, I wouldn’t blame you.  
That’s what unconditional feels like. Without censorship.


Mine turned yours, then turned sour, with every hour, spent split
And that empty void, of a screen, in between, everything you're deaf to.
The world gives me back, curled up and broken bit by bit.
Happiness is the touch of your fingertip on my bowed-out lip.

between the head and heart, you must reside
and carry on, regardless of the weight -
i hope you never see your worlds collide

if you can fight the emptiness inside
the battle's almost won, so close the gate;
between the head and heart, you must reside

it's tempting, yes, but you will be denied
from understanding, only left to hate
i hope you never see your worlds collide

discard the hunger, balance out the tide
you'll learn that dying lies in taking bait
between the head and heart, you must reside

and in you now, i know i must confide
there's so much strength in keeping in this state
i hope you never see your worlds collide

your twin-set mind, a natural divide
but you were always destined to create
between the head and heart, you must reside;
i hope you never see your worlds collide.

Genius is forged by passion
It is this which never dies:
Transcendental elation.

So long as one creation
is moved to dance mesmerized,
genius is forged by passion.

Though stone hearts lack expression,
postmoderns aching to try
transcendental elation

Keeping "plebes" from their "mansions."
Speak this opaque truth as lies:
Genius is forged by passion.

The hive mind *******,
at shared expense they deny
transcendental elation.

Our yearning adoration
causes heaven's voice to cry,
Genius is forged by passion!
Transcendental elation.

A Broken House

My house is broken, the windows cracked,
Don’t you see it falling apart right now?
I never said it was gonna be intact

The floorboards screaming, the books are stacked.
I won’t let my house fall apart, anyhow.
My house is broken, windows cracked.

The house is dying, having been ransacked.
It hardly comes back together, somehow.
I never said it was gonna be intact.

I jettison the bed in special act,
The walls cave in on me, just wow-o-wow.
My house is broken, windows cracked.

I allege my house has been attacked,
Still my house, hatred I will not allow.
My house is broken, windows cracked.
I never said it was gonna be intact.

For we chose this path to walk side-by-side.
And when it widens and when it narrows,
We do not seek shelter or place to hide.

We rise and fall together like the tide.
Kinetic beings in the ebbs and flows.
For we chose this path to walk side-by-side.

And ever moving we cannot elide
The surge of life when pebbles bite the toes.
We do not seek shelter or place to hide.

You found me in my twenties full of pride,
But what was that to what my life now knows?
For we chose this path to walk side-by-side.

The trees cast shadows, you and I have tried.
Your sublime being through your beauty shows.
We do not seek shelter or place to hide.

When you change pace I'll always match your stride.
And live this love and watch it as it grows.
For we chose this path to walk side-by-side.
We do not seek shelter or place to hide.

today is the day that we celebrate freedom
yet i feel like a prisoner within my own home
another surprise to hide in the museum

in my mind, in my might, in all of my kingdom
which i hope that one day will let go of it's own
today is the day that we celebrate freedom

i struggle to capture your intimate wisdom
i couldn't hear a thing that you said on the phone
another surprise to hide in the museum

i'm sorry that you've been reduced to this boredom
a ruse that reminds you you're always alone
today is the day that we celebrate freedom

i don't think it worked out quite like i had planned, um..
couldn't pretend that i'd hide what i'd shown
another surprise to hide in the museum

so what have i learned through all this confusion
my psychic ability to hear this has grown
today is the day that we celebrate freedom
another surprise to hide in the museum

Sweet, sweet those sounds of blithe songs and laughter;
They still find me in my dreams on lonesome nights.
Bitter, bitter the silence in my heart the morning after.

Once, a daft heart soared to discover someone dafter;
Oddballs together, we tasted the world’s wacky delights.
Sweet, sweet those sounds of blithe songs and laughter.

Jokes so silly, never unkind, banter flew by faster.
The crazy faces we so carelessly wore highlights
Bitter, bitter the silence in my heart the morning after.

Subtle changes sometimes hurt more than sudden disaster.
One heart has evolved while the other fool still cites
Sweet, sweet those sounds of blithe songs and laughter.

Life is a long book; our frolics were only one chapter.
Reminiscing about those golden olden days invites
Bitter, bitter the silence in my heart the morning after.

Frail those bonds never were, friendship never did shatter;
Separate but close, we’re both still oddballs by all rights.
Sweet, sweet those sounds of blithe songs and laughter,
Bitter, bitter the silence in my heart the morning after.