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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