Year: 2018

Merry Christmas and he’s sorry

Merry Christmas and he’s sorry

Elvish imps plagued the twins.

Laughing at their enforced chaos.

The twins, kicking and punching and stabbing.

And stabbing.

 

A green ticket laid in the brother’s hand,

Cold and spastic.

Diabolical deeds never die

While gifts are so grander than sky.

 

He left, with car skidding and hand steering

and fist that bled and choked

a glowing green ticket that flutters in the brother’s hand.

Cold and sanguine.

 

Thoughts of cars and mansions

and man and son

and families

and brothers.

 

Heartless

was the dagger, rotting in Steven.

Heartless was the statue planned for Steven.

Was the killer, brother of Steven, Heartless.

 

He looked at his glowing red fist,

Opened the gift,

Nothing.

No eternal riches.

No winning ticket.

 

The vessel that went by Carson was later found in a lake.

A lake which, on Christmas night, glowed red and green.

 

-Kevin J Flors

 

Source Image

Empty

Empty

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

part 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

Abandonment 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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Red Pins

Red 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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Futility

Futility

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

 

Thanks for reading.

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