"apocryphal" poems
My ***** Lover
Irrationality always wins
Chicago is aspirated beast
Braggart forced laugh
I had a vision but I have no vision
Dreamed I was making out with a woman
Who had long stretchy pink octopus tentacles
Sedulously legato ephemera
Growing from external rim of ******
Sobriquet inimical desiccation
One tentacle wrapped around and tickled
Diurnal nugatory verisimilitude
While other squeezed testicles
What was I talking about, oh yes
Everything got out of hand
Expect unthinkable gusting winds
To huff puff blow house down
Filthy rotten scoundrel but
Started out so sweet
Inchoate caliphate apocryphal
Wish I had her gift
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
jesus and judas kissed in the garden
moments before the world caved in.
the gospel of judas says that
the betrayer was the most loved of all disciples,
that jesus took him aside and
taught him touched him laughed.
there are two sides to canon, history, myth:
someone somewhere at sometime
wanted a better story,
where the betrayer was held close
and favored, forgiven—
but the gospels all end the same.
the son is strung up for someone else's sins
as judas wastes alone in the garden.
intention is a matter of interpretation
but what is silver worth, really?
metaphor disintegrates
and you come to me in my dreams.
to love you after all of this
is apocryphal— tempting yet untrustworthy.
you're not judas,
i'm just a mortal man,
and there is no gnosis, no hidden knowledge,
only apocalyptic revelations now.
the world is irrevocable, just born.
i miss you in the same way
jesus met judas' eyes on the cross.
somewhere in a field of blood
or a forgotten library buried under the earth,
there is a better story.
over time only becoming more unknowable,
hopeful fragments turning to dust
in trembling hands.
Nov 16, 2022
Nov 16, 2022 at 11:48 PM UTC
Red faced and wasted
I saw you naked
And fell in love
With your ancient body
Gone is the impulse to run
And all i can do now
Is to write simply
Lies and truth
Mixed together
Like oil and vinegar
We are fumigating
Our own bodies
Remove these carbon copies
And quietly daydream
About the faces of lost
Summer lovers
Fundraisers say goodbye
To yesterday's vacations
Just as we long to cry
We catch ourselves
Smiling for a moment
What do the turtles wish to communicate
Are we awake in our shells
Or have we fallen into the spell of limitation
Consternation and ************
Facts and figures receive their adulation
While we attract only tender triangulations
Please finish up your investigation
I blame you for instigating this comedy
A catalyst of abomination and dichotomy
Which followed me into retirement
Let's give banquets back to the government
And return to ancient lands
Devoted to camels and drunken apologies
It's apocryphal
Pornographic phantasmagoria
Fantastic fan-fictions
Describing sacredly sadistic rituals
Glorious duality
Radically alters our expectations
Yet manages to satisfy your frustrations
In dissimilar situations
We liberate our agitation and consternation
Over magazines and barnacles
We are more conspicuous
Than an empty gap in the sky
Made by two constellations
Taking a long vacation
Intrepid sailors raise their sails
And navigate by stars and compasses
Renaissance dancers are porous instigators
They initiate our imitations
We dream of political sovereignty
To remediate these tragedies
I breathe warfare and cleanse the air
Of apathetic non-negotiaters
Harboring criminals like butterflies
Sometimes the means do justify your eyes
Targets never argue
And bullets never lie
Finances and fiancées
Certainly have some value
Yet we underrate our skies
Miles of lost continents
Drift out from your skin
We begin an embargo
Hoping in the future we will win
Metaphysical furniture
Effects the state of mind you're in
The record players turned down
But you heat me up to begin
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 4:05 PM UTC
All lines are controversial
Average performance is extremely intelligent,
My answer to the riddle is this God never wrote fables
In the bible, Qur’an, Gita, Ramayana, Dini ya Musambwa
Nor anything you will mention that amount to mankind's
Mental peregrinations in search for God.
Jewish literature in the form of the bible
Is strongly successful as a misleading literature
And firmly founded in racial prejudice.
Similarly the Qur'an is Arabic adjustment
Of Jewish literature in the bible.
The Apocryphal of them all is enigmatic.
The sons of Asia are dangerously gifted in literature
And their epics often form religion, think of Tagore’s poem
That became Indian nation anthem,
Karl Marx's das kapitel that became revolutionary religion
Blue print or even Gautama's sermons recited by Jesus Christ
Six hundred years later as a sermon on the mountain.
Now; to me Asians must stop racial chauvinism
And accept humanity as there are very many human beings
Who are living away from Jerusalem and are prosperous
Both economically and spiritually, take a case of Vatican.
In my faith therefore, God himself
will give Jerusalem to African immigrants in Palestine and Israel,
Because Abraham was a refugee in Africa,
Ishmael was born in Africa; Jesus was a refugee in Africa
And even a Libyan; Simon the Cyrene helped him
To carry the ominous Roman cross, doen to Calvary
Thus, Christianity is founded on the innocent misery of an African race.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
I'm a bit of an agnostic,
sounds a little weasely I know,
But god in addressing you
should i be using a cap G
or lower case g?
As a compromise for this conversation
let's agree
you get a small g and i get small i.
If you've been monitoring events down here
you know we have some not small problems,
and one of those problems you could easily solve by making an appearance.
Nothing apocryphal,
maybe a United Nation speech
to seven billion hearts 'n minds,
and as proof its really you,
you could cause peace to reign,
cure hunger,
call off heart disease and cancer,
for a statistically significantly period,
let's say three years.
What's in it for you?
How about that capital "G"?
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 6:24 PM UTC
Somewhere, it seems as if the hidden, almost Apocryphal-smelling locks of Life are starting to open again; hunger and greedy thirst are following in its wake. The human shadows, like walnut kernels, carefully peel the rarely revealed one-essence from the slave back, as if everyone is waiting for the deliberate fall of their unsuspecting victims. Like tiger claws, the scornful sins of rejections and unworthy attitudes bite a person one after another, with which he can hardly do anything.
Because the World would crush everyone sympathetically a little, if it did not watch in readiness forever, as if a buzzing ant swarm penetrated the networks of blood vessels unnoticed. Because sooner or later, the mere Soul also rebels against its servant, the gaping of its instincts becomes arrhythmic. Even now, in a dazed stupor, this city with the smell of Nineveh slumbers like a drunken beast, which - it may seem - denies itself a little in exchange for petty, flattering benefits at every age, its compromising actions come face to face with man, and everything reveals how much easier it would have been to act differently, in a different way.
- In the grimace-games of dimples, the age histories of wrinkles get stuck halfway, which tell of shipwrecked childhoods... Something still rings better in a holey bag, and something just rings like a sound; making a big deal has become fashionable, just like unadorned, provocative ****** so that the number of viewers always brings the daily quota profit, the grass of innocence, like some unknown marijuana derivative, always rots. It may seem impossible to walk the peaks of silence that have become songless.
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 12:16 AM UTC
I.
The door stands outlined in white:
in this dark night, a presence
weighs in from the corridor.
The fan holds a garbled reflection
of stray light on its illusory blade-disk.
I'm talking about parthenogenesis.
How can renewal be born, when
creativity loses her companion,
freedom?
This monotone life lugs on.
II.
The tree shrugs the question off
by her parting arms half-illumined
by the streetlamp.
The late bird of five calls flew away
to a far-off tree, couldn't be
bothered more.
I hear a voice
soft in the setting chill of the distant autumn:
choked eyes beaming in love.
I seek palingenesis.
Check all emails and ensure zero
unread. But
answer none, follow up
nothing.
Umpteenth time through the day.
III.
Autotomy all over again.
Habits
die like tails, to be grown
all over again.
This is an etiological myth.
An apocryphal story that
renews itself on the palimpsest of life.
I must cut my nails.
This tea has brewed too dark.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
An angel arose
from atomic adventures
all arteries aching
awaiting
another armed attack
awaiting the Antichrist
and His adversaries
aching for his all encompassing alterations
alternative altars
and
apochryphal alphabets…
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
Her soul is on fire,
the heat from it taking me higher,
soaring on a demons breath,
taste on my lips, the kiss of death,
reaching forth she takes my hand,
leading me to a foreign land,
through the shrouds of darkened bliss,
wraps my spirit in an immortal kiss,
shields me with an apocryphal embrace,
takes me to her resting place,
she feels, she see's, she knows,
the ancient wisdom of the crows,
binds me with a seal of tears,
keeping me safe through all the years.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 10:21 AM UTC
Once
There was an ephemeral man
Precariously balancing on the ephemeral moon
That choleric moon
Always coughing and sneezing
Knocking off that precariously balanced man.
That parochial moon
With its offspring jogging and frolicking about
Maybe one day, that ineffable cough
Will be stopped.
The right thing
What is it?
I wonder
If you do the right thing--
Does it really make
everybody--
happy?
The proletarian moon child
Cogitated this
Along with a myriad of others
While gazing at the ephemeral stars
From the ephemeral moon
Apocryphal writings claimed the answer
But the child couldn't find solace in it.
So he jumped off
To join the vacuous inhabitants
Of the Earth below.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 7:34 PM UTC
Naked day, masked face, no sunlight
Unresponsive love, where are your friends
Preaching vanity, the cancer of insanity
Let's stay, let's stay, let's stay in here forever
Celebrity apocalypse, rapture on, intoxicate
Apocryphal day, cloudy haze, immaculate hypnosis rings
Eyes soar from tiger days when our future was a blaze
Imminent to fade away
Cascade into a passive rage
Unresponsive love enter the page
My words are trailing off
You're turning into sage
Silver skin, bright blue eyes
When will your statue come alive
Tally days, quiet wind, stale stench
Apocryphal, talk to you, old confidant
Your secrets aren't the same
Recite the days inside of fate
What you think you know
Recycled feelings left you dead
Enticing readings kept you silently said
My unresponsive love, please, get out of bed
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 3:01 AM UTC
.
There is a presence here,
can't you feel it crackling
through the evening air?
Creeping into the mind
as an invasion by consent.
A candle flame flickers
as an errant string thrums,
a note of announcement
and precedent to an army
set to join the invasion.
There is a presence here,
can't you feel it cloying
at open waiting ears,
seeping over the babble
as an intrusion most welcome.
A chord breaks silence
as a voice slow gently hums
a prelude to old new songs,
an accompaniment to a jangle
as the errant string conforms.
There is a presence here,
can't you hear it calling
to the blood in your veins,
freezing the moments solid,
speaking at corpuscular levels.
An excitement of particles
agitate an expectant atmosphere,
curved air starts to resonate
an apocryphal truism that
there is a Presence … here.
© Pagan Paul (15/01/20)
Jan 23, 2020
Jan 23, 2020 at 5:38 AM UTC
I walk into the prime RF wave
Where the space is thick with fraudulent motives
I see him there
Sorting out the wreckage that remains
He sits upon a white couch
Window dressed with precedent navy blue drapes
While his anguish takes egress
He greets me with open arms
And takes my hand to dance
He whispers to me as we sway
His message is quite clear
“The apocryphal is a high castle wall
The infallible fathers the fall”
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
languid shrouds of
language apocryphal
indistinct and purely equestrian
but it seams
to glow of moisture gleaming like an organic high
with undulance continuity pleasing in a way
a strand of care-free rhapsodic parody
by chance bluish purple
ostentatious echoing
evocative even if not meant
like a dream state
a plethora suffuse
a glowing abundance
of too much
new.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 5:56 AM UTC
I’d heard a story in that proverbial once upon a time
(Though its origins are hazy, at best, to me now:
Perhaps something my son heard at Sunday school,
Or part of the never-ending nattering
From the marketing guy at lunchtime,
Maybe cackled by the crazy, toothless blind guy on the 16A bus)
Concerning the programmers who’d worked on a project
In the earliest days of nano-technology,
Creating software for their relative monoliths,
Australopitchecuses of artificial intelligence,
Serving as prototypes for some envisioned universe
Where tiny drones served the whims of some doctor or researcher
Operating unseen and omnipotent behind some microscope or monitor.
The trials went quite smoothly, almost flawlessly,
The models impeccably doing what binary switches
And if-then-else statements decreed,
But the researches noticed that
Just before they executed the final bit of code,
The models would invariably exhibit
A slight hesitation--almost imperceptible, infinitesimal even,
But clearly occurring, nonetheless.
They’d assumed, quite naturally, it was a mere matter of de-bugging,
Some misplaced comma or parentheses among the thousands,
But they reviewed the code any number of dozens of time,
Only to find it was clean as a whistle.
What’s more, they’d found that while the vacillation appeared
At the same point in the process,
It didn’t happen at exactly the same time;
Indeed, they cropped up, relatively speaking, months, even years apart.
One of the white coats jokingly referred to the pause
As the machines “Peggy Lee moment”
(You know, ‘Is that all there is?’)
But no one else involved the project saw the humor.
They’d decided to ignore or accept the quirk, though it was rumored
That it drove a few of the programmers to near-madness,
With one or two of their number bolting the project without notice,
Entering monasteries with the intent
Of shutting themselves off from the outside world
For the rest of their days, and its existence was buried
In reams of footnotes at the end of their final report
(Though as I said, the tale’s source is unclear,
And I am inclined to regard it as apocryphal.)
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 10:00 AM UTC
Lacking the ability to peform everyday tasks,
the mirror your enemy ,
makeup a mask.
Advert your eyes
in them the lack of truth,
vulnerability inevitable
as fleeting as your youth.
find comfort in normalcy
repetitive and bland,
every breath mundane,
dead and dejected.
the delusion of happiness
apocryphal lovers
in pursuit of nonsensical dreams,
is everything as it was
or is nothing as it seems.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
Bar politicians and hobo drawers
This town smells like bad history
Oh mother cancer you're growing on me
You're my favorite stock holmes disease
Everything was a breeze, when the earth was spinning for me
Till the coriolis changed its pace, and the horizon seemed constant
Never to be touched by me
Something to reach for, but never to see
Spare me your sympathetic tendencies
I'm sick of replacing me with please
And acting like every want is a need
When happiness is just a mirage
Good thing I don't have a car
Because I'm using that garage to store all my old memories
A box full of unanswerables stacked up on top of my anxiety
On top of the box full of the blood and tears I bleed
And the forgotten hypocrisies under my apocryphal tendencies
Next to the karaoke machine that screams infidelity
How far back do I need to hide those suppressed memories for them to never surface again
What's the point if the boxes are transparent?
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 2:49 AM UTC
The irresolvable contradiction, in whose subconscious formula this current absurd-impossible World is immersed, first it turns into non-existence, then it organically emerges into the stagnant Nothingness. The ostrich-faithful gangs of yampecs, like the circus associations of the self-deceivers, seem to even play together a little in the manner of accomplices in the intercontinental businesses of gamblers - because a restless, wandering Soul has long since become a cat and has been tempting the son of man, because there is no partiality, no special difference in a prolonged, incessant Sisyphusian fall. It feels the numbing cracks of the rotting decompositions, while those who remain on the surface are constantly eviscerating the last pennies and silver coins from the pockets of the simpler, working average; Even pitifully degrading bureaucratic wisdom cannot be quite adequate these days: dignity and existence exclude each other just as feudal lords exclude a compromising servant.
Free-thinking is not at all chic these days, they are quite calmly content with merely the illusion of truth as long as possible. Now imported idolatry is becoming more and more popular again, but very much so. Because in the guaranteed transitional age, no one and nothing can be themselves, or the same as they were as long as the laws of humanism were observed, the message of conscious blind indifference seems to have been deliberately transplanted into another blind world.
Like startled fish embryos, apocryphal passwords glide, wrinkles write the warning message on the secret prison walls of faces: "Pay attention, and rather hide in hiding!" - Every circle must organically close at some point. The wasted seasons are no longer waiting for a silver star ready to wander. It's time to ventilate the soul-crushing stuffiness that is welling up in man!
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 12:34 AM UTC
"That is not dead which can eternal lie,
and with strange aeons even death may die."
-Abdul Alhazred
Piercing light digs itself into my eyes
A spread of bird calls funnel past open windows
I lift my throbbing head off the splayed pages
It seems that morning breeze has been perusing my book
The Necronomicon
With groggy effort, I go about my daily routine
Brushing leads to breakfast which leads to brooding
Today is Saturday and I am beyond unimpressed
Not many activities catch my eye like they used to
I think I’ll go for a swim
Thankfully, the empty lap pool provides a haven
Loneliness was never an outstanding issue among our family
That pervasive sense of dull dread invades my heart, yet
There is a thin verisimilitude between loneliness and contentment
I muse upon the power of individuality while submerging
Half-past 11, I notice some peculiar glow spreading in the lanes
Emerald ooze steadily overtakes a pair of arms and legs
It is not long before this strange goo overtakes my skull as well
Instantaneously, terror plunges deep into my amygdala
I assume sounds of thrashing water and stifled screams
How does my body drift deeper than physically possible?
When does my mind disconnect from our tangible world?
Just why are suction-cupped serpents binding me?
Questions spill over the brim and are not met with any answers
Nonetheless, I embrace impending death
Visions assault a cloud of sensory panic
The chlorine chaos takes on saltier flavoring
I see images of cyclopean kingdoms draped in sea growth
Stupendous beings lumber with apocryphal disregard
To these incomprehensible entities, I am dust
They relinquish me back to my microscopic world
I do not know why the cosmic horrors revealed themselves
All I am aware of is that this was a mere glimpse at true evil
One born millennia before the most ancient of stars
One that will persist millennia after such bodies have extinguished
I sink back into the water, exhausted
"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."
-H.P. Lovecraft
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
BEHOLD A PALE HORSE
Recall-quietly-the-hazy-days-where-I-didn’t-know-poisonous-berries-from-safe-ones.....
I hazarded a climb up the tallest tree
the ascent was genuflected as I recall.
The grove was perfect in its equanimity,
forcing my gaze to rest upon a single silver stallion.
For hours I watched
Oh, Primeval Traveler,
with your triumphant mane, silvered across horizon
echoing the lunar eclipse in your brilliance,
your muscles reminiscent of an anti-apocryphal steed
It’s flow showed the authenticity of nature
Here life proudly declared
Movement & Peace
And each of it’s components perfectly crafted in the Cosmic Forge
Look how its luminescent power survives the darkness
I thought this until a neural feedback loop formed,
“This is the beast that would have pulled Arjuna forth unto battle
As Krishna directed him in his dharma as a secondary event
to the arrival of natural perfection.”
As the day past to night,
the night brought forth darkness
And in the darkness I recognized a primal need of my own.
To evacuate all of the grunginess I felt brewing within my body.
I resolved the anguish in a moment of perfection.
A loss of self catalyzed through the release of wasted being
And I recall that as I came back into my being
the horse who had been so distant and yet so near
the one who I had borne divine witness to
galloped full stride in the trajectory of my lofty dwelling
As it passed under me
It......s.tum.-b.led-------->(^)ooooo,,,o,o,o,o,o,o,o,o,oo,0.
Through the most polluted of rancid berry waste I have ever let go of.
Its mane plastered to its leathery skin by my own liquid adhesive
It lay there
dying and breathless
among the wasteland, which came so inevitably from my bowels
now a haven for insects nestled and rotten, a temple of the naturally begotten child of life named “death,”
Or rather an impromptu and particularly gothic grave of a God who has received no worship and is now forgotten.
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
I like to believe
that nobody understands me
and I'm one of a kind
lost to obscurity
but hinting of mysterious
significance
And I feel sorry for
my uncle's three-legged dog
and the malignancy
of fear in rural America
and the failed successes
of the Bolsheviks
I wonder about the air
in Saõ Paolo in January
and the muskuloskelatal
infirmities that creep in
and make the aged
into churlish curmudgeons
There is no way I could
hunt truffles or find a fresh
Morel in the woods when
I didn't even realize until
my grandmother died that
we own a creek
Uttering vespers in moonlight
yields some sanguine lucidity
like contemplating the nuanced
differences between polenta
and cornmeal mush
It's like I'll never write a poem
in time or finish a marathon
or kiss a stranger deeply
through the crisp ventillation
of nevermore.
We might daydream the bombastic
colors of Cezanne but all
we'll ever be is some nondescript
platinum ischemic flash,
a slimy buffet consisting in
all-is-lost
An apocryphal journey
to the center of the city
faces our insubordination to plastic
with the harshness of a dictionary
in the face of the illiterate
But in the end, apoplectically
forgotten, I come to the
unintelligent conclusion,
mathematically speaking,
that there is nothing singular
nor more available
than the finite banality
of my empty, insufficiently
obscurantist words which
flow and choke and all can know
and see clearly through
though I insist that none
of this pretence is born
of any maleveloence, and I chide
"How very meta of me indeed"
to have thought of another witty
and most cleverest retort
the day after the insult
was first delivered
But I used my last gift card
to purchase this still life
to pierce the hollow
cerulean satisfaction
otherwise known as tears
Barring diastolic ******
I'll stick around to see
how this all turns out
and hope that one day I can stop
being so completely understood
And then I can hide in the lonely
and find refuge in the cave
as a single meaningless scrawl
buried in the last pages
at the end of the world.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 12:36 AM UTC
Halloween at Camp LeJuene
So those storage tanks
the ads of late-night-- all talkin' about
some thirty-five years a-leaking like...
some aplastic benzene-apocryphal river
Horror!
tastes like chemo Kool Aide
forever in the mouth
washing over parade route
seeping into boots and wombs
of cadets who can't hear the music
over a child's laughter-- ever
over failing livers
lined up like lawyers marching
onto glyphosate green
to Parkinsonian cheers
to Taps-solos echoeimg off the stone-
of mind and memory
Flags!
Flapping-angry!
“No (wo)man left behind
on the multiple ways to myeloma
Miscarriages
of justice!
A silence waiting
an eternity
of tiny infant cries
emptying....
into Love Canal
There will be...
NO JUSTICE!
Only billions set aside
for funeral-ic devastation
“Significant compensation”
--being read in a woman's face
in a woman's voice
“...suffering from any of these....
after drinking the water at Camp Le Juene”
at the hands-down
heads-turned
greased palms of
silence
being owned
by military-corpporate
“channels”
of secrecy
...of Pharma-to-government
medical-backwaters
laundered to-governments
of banana republics
Mercenery chemicals
Medicine with missile launchers
strewn
among military over-runs of...
…of high power rifles,
night goggles, and F-15s
What am I missing here?
...about the rubbery clots and myocarditis?
Has it finally come round to us?
How could I not see!
not recall?
How many years ago--
since I could hear?
the rapid fire!
“The toxic Leaks!”
“...suffered from any of these...”
...feeding tube terrors
Time's tumors
downgrade to errors
deferred...
Now beside the grief as amputees
--take the field of parade
While Misplaced Rage
pages through abortions of blame
in the chemical caldron
where they **** shower, and shave
...then towel-dry their babies
or not....
Where are the rapid-fire rats and bats
when we need 'em?
Semper Fi!
Nov 29, 2022
Nov 29, 2022 at 10:12 PM UTC
I dreamt the world
it never changed.
She never came.
My tethered skin
tore weathered chains.
I swore she knew
my given name.
Myths are stained.
Apocryphal.
A pocket full…
of gods and cherubs
in the fold.
Hope is serum
of the fools.
Hate is fearing
all the rules.
Love is blind
love is blind
If you love her
say it twice.
Broke my words
in several places
Make amends
in several phases
String the song
with several phrases.
We’ll become
a bending stalk.
Snapped in half
ascending up.
Blush and makeup.
Don’t believe.
Rush to make up
this belief.
So we’re here
in disbelief.
Petal, scent
fall to the earth
If mental cries
this mind is burnt.
I never changed
She never sensed
our plot unwritten.
Lift the pen.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 10:46 PM UTC
Because forever
is the biggest lie on earth,
All promises made in love
are apocryphal.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC