The Vindictive Con-Artistry Of
The Warmth Of Conviction.
What A Slow And
Penetrating Loneliness.
Isolated In
Wishless Retribution.
Helplessness
Exploited.
Representing.
Unique.
Wordlessness.
Sympathy's Conspiring Pride...
...arama.
-Gray Squirrel
06-05-2026
My little Tornado
See you at the end of incredible
A harvest of likes
A harvest of Loves
Follows you to the end
The end of incredible lust
Found burning between fantasy and dream
My eyes claim to have the answers I seek
But with all the wisdom I stand behind
I fight to right the puzzle of time
Then I look at myself
The truth that hides behind a mind that just won't shut up
Conspiring a flavor
just enough to make you see
The magic of your strut upon the path of surrender
To a place in my mind that makes us both feel alive
Its so intense to live a life
So immense
Should be your heart
In a swirling wind
That brings you to me
In a dream of you
if I could ask
Whats the purpose of those boots with wings
You would have the answer
I ve been looking for
All my life
FRUITS OF OUR SEX
The sexualization of men and women lurks on every street corner
From the eggplants at the grocery store
To the cucumbers laid out at the spa
Can’t a woman enjoy a ripe banana?
Or bite into a watermelon while its juices
drip down my chin, slipping into my bra
What is it about food that’s so sexual?
Or is the pleasure hidden in the hunger that drives it all?
A craving, a desire we all have—built in, hardwired
A balanced diet turns aphrodisiac, quietly conspiring
Fueling our passions
as they seep in, interrupting vision with cloaked actions
What if I don’t eat pineapple?
Or my cheeks puff up when I eat peach,
What’s so wrong with small cherries?
Do they taste any less sweet?
What about what I want—
Can I not have sex with socks on
just to keep from worrying about cold feet?
The fruits of our sex are something for the eyes to see
Yet labeled in bold: Don’t bite into me
Is that what makes you want us more?
The warning, the restraint, the closed door?
Indulge in your desires—still your thirst returns unsure
No sweetness stays long enough to cure
So tell me—
is it the fruit,
or the mind
that makes hunger feel impure?
Sounds of restless drums.
Almost feels like conspiring.
As they beat so fast they float.
Gradually lifting from my groundlessness.
Take away all the tantruming trees.
Like an angry wish.
Like being trampled.
By a single ant.
Shame like a salt and pepper shaker laughing.
A pair of shameful dancing.
So one goes to sleep, the other is awake but in shambles.
Again.
The clanging of marbles.
There is such a thing as shame.
And more,
It’s relentless.
Shame.
Has nothing to do with the endlessness.
Yet it tries to shoehorn its way in.
Shame is…
…A gradual conspiracy…
I look from my window—
the city is silent and serene.
I give another glance:
the light of bulbs moves slowly
through the twilight night.
Suddenly,
the uproar of parasite cars
breaks the seamless silence,
conspiring against the beauty
born of that celestial scene.
The wondering, waning moon—
like a besought fortune—
shy and quiet,
approaches me.
Enchanting, she whispers:
Take my light
and ignite the darkness within.
one with the vastness, conspiring with space
magnetised palms transmit radiant light
if the receptor chooses to embrace
healing mists infuse heightened bliss delight
that by God’s hands, wrongs suffered are made right
thus in monk mode, energies with love yoked
magic is conjured, divine grace invoked
Bejeweled flyers chatting away merrily.
Singing harmony to a silent sentient God.
Maybe they're trapped in indigo agony.
Shaking our toxins from their beaks.
What do they think of the awkward
breathing stone far beneath them...
Maybe they're conspiring
to murder me twice.
Gaslight,
Burn open the scouring flame,
Watch it whisper and call my name,
The flame burning bright,
Tremble in the night,
Burn the place where we once used to be,
For only we can ever see,
The fire of dawn,
Seeks a familiar call,
Singing a yet so far song,
To gag the man,
And keep his tongue tied,
To feel the burn,
On the woman's thigh,
To become a man,
Once so violent and true,
To burn the enby,
For not conspiring to you,
To bring the candle up and near,
To burn the lobe of ones dear ear,
Bring the flame,
For the fire streams bland,
Show the dame’s helping hand,
Sow the seed on fertile land,
And burn the ground for where I stand,
Come and follow my forgiving heart,
Stomp it to the ground while we burn apart,
Gaslight me and it's fair game,
Gaslight you and they’ll fear thy name.
I am poetry
An unheard whisper
Shadows
Conspiring
A tear
Soaked in laughter
Anger
Molded in metaphor
Humor
Wielding the axe of angst
Whispering
A farewell kiss
I am poetry
The invisible heart of language
Beating a near silent drum
A quiet vibration
Teasing the moonlight
A cool breath of air
Drawing lovers closer
A metered heartbeat
Quickened in passions petulance
I am poetry
A dream yet unformed
Stirring the ink of dreams
Weaving a wondrous web
Awaiting unsuspecting words
I look up to the heavens
and recognize the telltale signs conspiring
to cast my thoughts on back to you ~
the marvelment of heart-shaped clouds
in the flush of day
and startlement of shooting stars
in the shade of night
AP: Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2025
The muzzle flash of the moon is infused with clouds
where the brightness tapers off on knees that poke through
the slit in her dress; the hem slips off her crossed legs.
Gunpowder in sieves flecks her irises
when she glimpses through my lunar haze
of daydreams that I'll trigger her to smile.
A Guns N' Roses song flogs silence in the back-
ground of my mind as she stands to shake
hands I synchronously half-rotate to kiss.
Her wedding ring tastes like zinc, or some strange kettle
of moondust while she avers that I look as pale
as mists conspiring to discover our trail.
Though we can't see her butler crack the whip to keep
a distant carriage in place,
whinnying clouds beam a grin to her face.
Shadows linger like tendrils in my mind
Nobody escapes the fingers of death
Rooted in your soul, planted in your being
Seeing is not always believing, it's deceiving
Captured like a picture, photo of the truth
Manipulated into reality that lies the proof
The entity behind the scenes, conspiring
Life lived unowned, the robot is tiring
Shadows never shade, shadows of your grave
The tendrils of evil are so well misbehaved
And nothing is all you can do...
so some wooden spoons and a potato masher
with a spaghetti spoon and some other utensils
being what they are every day, stoically on duty
crammed into the unremarkable utensil holder
but one particular day when they and the light
decided to converse secretly with the universe
over an unknown coffee among chatter and din
bereft of sticky fingers, cast a phoenix in flight
majestically across the kitchen wall, the meal
was several seconds later that magical evening
and by another incredible zing, a conspiring
of the universe and other distant table waited
secret evening suppers, the bedroom pointed
to the lampshade upon a low lit ceiling behind
it became a robot warlord’s head ripped from
its body, circuitry dangling like vein and sinew
and then – hey look at this, said the universe
I wondered how many times the universe had
reached out but I was in too much of a hurry
and sleep was several seconds later that night
Giving up on Love
In the depths of love's betrayal, I found myself adrift upon a sea of tears. Each wave brought me closer to my knees and surrendering, as if fate itself conspiring against me." Yet even as the tempest raged, I clung desperately to hope. But when faith turned to dust, and trust become a distant memory, I knew that love had left my soul possibly forever. Thus, with a heavy heart, I cast aside my dreams of everlasting love. For what is affection but a fleeting mirage, shimmering enticingly on the horizon, only to fade away with the setting sun? I stand here at the precipice of love's end. The echoes of laughter and joy still resonate within our memories, yet the silence of solitude whispers gently in the wind. What is love but a flickering flame that dances wildly in the darkness, cosuming everything in its path before vanishing into the ether? Love betrays all when giving into the blindness of hope..!
In the quiet hush of the night’s embrace, Where stars ignite and secrets bloom, I pen verses dipped in moonlight, A symphony of longing and tender grace.
Your eyes, twin galaxies of wonder, Hold constellations yet uncharted, And within their depths, I find solace, A celestial map to navigate love’s terrain.
Your laughter, a melody woven by angels, Echoes through the corridors of my heart, Each note a promise of forever, A dance of souls in harmonious art.
Our fingertips brush like whispered secrets, Tracing constellations upon skin, And in that delicate touch, we discover, The universe conspiring for us to begin.
Love, a fragile bloom in the garden of time, Yet resilient as the ancient oak, Rooted deep, it defies storms and seasons, A testament to the magic we invoke.
So let our love be an epic poem, Written across the canvas of existence, In ink of stardust and passion’s fire, A tale whispered by the moon’s persistence.
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