Empty

FeaturedEmpty

Empty our definitions of ignorance.

My horoscope paints a wretched fortitude.

The liar in a field of lepers,

The hound of a parliamentary.

I face a faceless evil,

Lathered muck coats the laughable sadist.

What justifies his poisonous stupor?

His porous odor?

A pontiferous codification?

Organic waves a salutation.

The factory pursues her coitus.

Open conversions of the Nihilists,

The betterment forms an empty knowledge.

Personages filter my delicate dreaming.

A fragile transit unordered,

Under cardboard and excrement,

My eyes ferociously scan for fantastical obsolescence.

A functional lawman suffocates in stationary.

Mindful teething of Californian cattle,

Candlelit by distant obelisks.

An empty ocean poses comatose.

A steward stole my reclamation.

Louder I bellowed a restitution for stagnation.

Emptiness occupies my condolences,

Feeling what minds allow us.

Venerable is our Creator,

But whom do I revere?

Losing is a tariff on our innocence.

Winning is a tariff on our innocence.

Living is a tariff on our innocence.

Empty are definitions of our innocence.

Empty is our definition.

— Kevin J. Flors

 

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part two

Featuredpart two

Guessing my seconds

failing to forget

the years I’ve wasted

the times spent crying.

A ledge staring at me

no more waiting

no more wailing

a loudness in the silence.

Show more feeling

for the sorrows

my depressing

spirit gouges.

Hallow sprites

carefully caress

the son you gave me…                                 what I gave my son.

I’d caressed, cared fully

but spry was the hollow

gouging his spirit.

His deep resting.

My sorrows for

feelings you’d shown

but silent was your loud

he wails no more

waits no more

a pledge to my star.

Crying spent my time

wasted my years

my forgotten failures

my second guessing.

–Kevin J Flors

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Abandonment and Dejection

FeaturedAbandonment and Dejection

Abandonment and dejection,

A boy’s name,

Desired more times than death,

More times in death.

 

Fermented in a bar,

With enthusiastic gullet.

How great grapes so hallow,

Transform one so hollow.

 

Little passion ever seen,

Showed its face in torrents,

Bony, but bellowing,

Desperately hanging.

 

Man was no medicine,

Nor was a muffled moonlight,

Nor a yearned sensuality,

Nor the coveted wine.

 

Sailors bunched around a bonfire,

Salt kindles a foul smell,

Engineered hands built to slave,

Built to hold.

 

The joined act of lasting,

Of loving,

Of losing,

Of still holding.

 

–Kevin J Flors

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Photograph from Pexels

Red Pins

FeaturedRed Pins

Hailing reigns sharpen his mind.

Amusing deconstructions of the Word.

The clandestinity of the cumulus.

What paltry its nimbus resembles?

 

What mindfulness we don’t own?

Smallest egos amongst the sheep of the conceited.

Excommunication of the heretics,

A banishment praising our synthetic lords.

 

Shallow are the shores of our capacity.

Our mind formed by the Baker.

Needed are our wants.

A wanted silence envelops the kneading.

 

A candid kingship, mercy does not know.

Salivated hunger pains the belly’s flame.

Lustful journey’s romance with torture,

Never ceases in congregation.

 

To question the capacity of power.

The seeming unattainability of it.

The obstacles we burn to breathe it.

What futility it bears?

 

–Kevin J Flors

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Photograph from Pexels

 

Futility

FeaturedFutility

Birthing mandates depression,

Sinful monsters directing films,

For our eyes cannot be stopped.

 

Looking for answers,

Lost in lust and greed and family,

Responsibility never slumbers.

 

The name of our desire is Waning,

We will all die before he,

He will tease us into believing.

 

They only speak in exploitation,

Don’t bother learning it,

You were born to never understand.

 

Minds play a king of deception,

Besides the two my mother gave me,

I’ve lost all my hands.

 

Personifications of sound.

What really is a voice,

Without a gilded crown?

 

A wise man once said,

He was the leader.

Following defines our nature.

 

Comatose defines our coitus.

 

Complacency defines our torture.

 

— Kevin J. Flors

 

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Alienation’s Bellow Cries Death

FeaturedAlienation’s Bellow Cries Death

Alarming bells’ counting daze,

Entrancing followers’ gilded hearts.

Illusionary jungles kill lions.

Monarchical nihilism overshadows persistence.

Quickly reins shake tyranny,

Undress vixens worriedly.

Xerxes’s yielding zeal.

 

A broken clock doesn’t

Entertain fathers. Grieving homes.

Intrusive jingles. Knives lunging.

My neck opens purple,

Quivering. Restlessly stoic tumult.

Unheard vehemence withers.

Xenolith’s youth zombified.

–Kevin J. Flors

 

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Inevitable Lateness

FeaturedInevitable Lateness

 

I now understand,

 

My mother’s indigestion of stress,

Spat out in undesirable forms,

A bullet aimed at our apathy,

Its journey never short.

 

The dependence of alcohol,

An escape from skeletons,

Walking skeletons,

Or what feigns natural.

 

My father’s infidelity,

Disintegrating pathways.

The artistry to combine,

The chemical with the physical.

 

Smokers,

Burning their lungs and nerves,

Curing combustible flames,

When water fails to salve.

 

My mother’s anger,

Her sadness,

Nervousness,

Loneliness.

 

Depression.

Late shipments of reminiscence,

Of overbearing failures,

Of regrets.

 

I now understand,

 

All the forgotten dreams,

Floating in stagnant wells,

Incapable of rippling,

Pressured by an unbending mold.

–Kevin J Flors

 

 

Thanks for reading.

Photograph from Pexels.