"boned" poems
Strangers known
by shared room
Honey voiced , high cheek *****
no less, no more
Licorice words pounding
on a chest
scrambling to wrap fingers
around a single perfumed breath
Two days dragging on
pulled through mud
stuck in fog
seconds are hours too long
Then ringing came
answered by drops of syrup
pouring out a reply, yes!
drinking it in with big gulps.
Mirror reflects practiced hellos
swishing hair put in place
teeth and lips splitting
breaking through stone face
Pacing back and forth
frantic footsteps pounding
crushing carpet in a line
south, north, south, north
No ring, no change
red blushes fad grey
phone silent, gaze up
stare blank
Is the swooshing hair the wrong way?
Is the grin too toothy?
Is the face not constructed right?
Stood up and let down
sailor on a ship
already sunk and drifting
off the starboard bow
Stood up and let drown
by the honey voice
the high cheek bones
Failure in hindsight sighing
“I should have known
I should have known…”
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 3:31 AM UTC
Smelly Feet
In the sun, feel the heat,
and the odor of my smelly feet.
All people squeezing their nose,
from the cheese between my toes.
Shoes melted on the road,
smell spreading to the next zip code.
Even I'm wearing a gas mask,
sipping whiskey from my flask.
Feet burning as I start to run,
stick a fork in them, they're done.
Still a mile left to go,
I can see my feet as they glow.
Leaving melting skin far behind,
left sunglasses home and going blind.
Hot tar starting to melt,
I'd do anything for a conveyor belt.
Soaking feet when I get home,
Pretty soon, I will see bone.
My house is just down the block,
vultures circling as they stalk.
Getting worse is the odor,
laughing at me is the Caddyshack gopher.
The Rock wants to know what I'm cooking,
it's my feet, that is brewing.
The smell is spreading worldwide,
my feet are now Kentucky fried.
People cheer as I reach my door,
**** my feet are very sore.
Sprayed my feet with tough acting Tinactin,
burned so bad it melted the rest of my skin.
Soaked my bones in cold water,
never have I felt a road more hotter.
Sprayed Fabreze for about an hour,
then I took a long cold shower.
Moonshine and pain pills dull my pain,
it was my own fault so can't complain.
Now I wear special shoes,
my smelly ***** feet even made the news.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
I downed this big *** bottle of wine
in a small hope to get you off my mind
but your ******* smile man
that **** has me on cloud nine
all. the. time.
your world is scary I'll admit
not sure if you're friends or family
would accept the idea of me
or let me in
just crash into me
in a boy's dream
in a reality
I'm bare ***** here you know,
I'm crazy for you
you put a glow into my eyes
and the happiness that lacks at home
something I thought I had
something I thought I'd know
Makes me cry tears of joy and sadness all the same
I don't want to hurt anyone
but I can't help what I've gained
So what do I do with it all?
What do I do with you?
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
The rush
The grace
The feeling I get when I dance
My heart beating faster and faster and faster
Until everything falls silent
Its me
And the music
Just Me
And the rhythm
My heart is beating, my feet are moving
My head is spinning, I hit it
A switch turns on inside of me
I’m in it to win it now
I want that platinum, I want to make you proud of me
I want to be the dancer you want me to be
But ballet, thats not it.
You ruined this, you told me I wasn’t good enough
Point your toes,
lift your chin,
hold your leg higher
Do this, do that. Who cares?
Do I look like a prima ballerina to you?
I am not tall, I am not lanky
I am not skinny, I am not light
And I’m sorry but I have *****
You can push me,
Stretch me, pull me in all different directions
To do what?
Make me more flexible, more graceful, more
you
You have beaten me down with your words,
so much that the one thing I loved most in the world
has slowly been slipping away from me
Dance doesn’t define who I am,
It is who I am.
Dance is me
I am dance
I’m big ***** I have strong muscles
I’m not graceful, when you tell me to hit it hard,
I hit it with intensity, with power
Don’t ask me to prance around in a pink tutu.
I won’t.
Put me in harem pants, and a baggy sweatshirt
Throw some beats down
And I’ll groove it
Pop it, slide it, lock it
Sharp sharp smooooooth
So many different moves,
Some don’t even have names
No Fouetté, or jeté
No relevé, or adagio
What do these even mean?
Do I look french to you?
I’d rather body roll
Chest pop
And just let my body do the talking
I don’t dance to impress you
I don’t dance to please your needs
I don’t dance for high scores
I dance to express the words I cannot speak
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
*I Played cards with death,
He asked me to pick,
Pick what I said?
A card it shall teach you of life
I picked
One,
Then two,
Lastly three,
*Have you picked wisely
Death aske me,
King
*Queen,
Then the joker made three.
Who will live the longest?
Death pointed his ***** fingers,
I looked, thought who would it be,
I said the king or queen would be last
Death cold stare looked at me.
The king when visited
Did try to buy his life from death,
Death doesn't need gold you see
But I gave the king a coin
For the ferryman to take his soul.
I said the queen would be my second guess,
But again he looked coldly upon me,
She asked me to be her king
But I whispered I am the god of death
to be a king would be no use me.
She was taken again no use of gold
But I once again gave a coin .
It couldn't be the jester?
A creepy smile feel upon his face,
Death said, what is life with out laughter
I came for him, he made me laugh
He did an impression,
He impersonated me,
I laughed out loud,
I hadn't done that in
A million years.
So I told keep others laughing
I will give you and those extra years
But like all I will come for thee,
So the tale was told.
Laughter is a way to keep life going
But everyone will be visited,*
King,
Queen,
Jester
You and me
Just keep laughing it will add on years to your life.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 11:15 AM UTC
the backyard is home to a field of flowers
amidst the roots the family dog discovers skeletons
the petals stick to themselves; the weeds spread
it's found that the flower-bed holds its secrets
with curiosity and wandering eyes comes a child
in innocence, he opens his arms only to receive pain
he drops to the earth, writhing in pain
his light form crushing the weeds and flowers
the dog barks at the screaming child
and tries to release him from the skeletons
the strength of their grasp is that of their secrets
you see the effects spread
across the child's skin they spread
his face warping under the pain
opening his mouth, he began releasing his secrets
telling only the ears of the crushed flowers
and the arms around him, those of the skeletons
look at the helpless child
the bones are engulfing the child
grabbing and pulling, faster they spread
the boy becomes one with the skeletons
he becomes one with his pain
his body sinks further down into the flowers
and the flowers promise to keep his secrets
the weeds overheard his secrets
the boy looks less and less of a child
as he settles in with the flowers
making room for him, the flowers spread
the suffering subsides, decreasing pain
he's almost as the skeletons
his body unites with the skeletons
the ***** age keeps his secrets
no longer is there pain
no longer is there a child
into the ground, his limbs spread
into the roots of the flowers
the pain no longer is in the child
because the skeletons stole his secrets
his bones spread among the flowers
Apr 18, 2011
Apr 18, 2011 at 1:59 PM UTC
it’s real and thick, like, jiggly
tingly and tasty— i said baby i’m
not made for much but giggling
and i can make your night
haven’t spoken since i was out on bond
but you’re super cute more than i
envisioned and you’re good at makeup
makes my feelings all kinds of wiggly
days lost in green oblivion
like a prison weight lugged around
do you remember when you were
with me all skinny and brittle *****
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 12:49 AM UTC
my room was a mess,
and we added to it as we undressed,
because I couldn't wait any longer.
I love the feeling of you on me,
as I try to be quite
You came in my mouth,
gripping my head,
my neck,
you tell me, "moan baby"
you love to hear me moan,
you wanted me to moan so loud the whole town could hear,
when I do I feel so happy to be with you,
I lay next to you,
wrap my body around you,
I hold ur hands and make a face that says everything were going to do,
is going to be *****
but I want to love you,
I kiss you to the point there's no point in stopping,
and when our fingers are unlocking,
they stroke your hair,
hair I love,
you grab my *** and spank it hard,
and I move my hands down your body never pausing,
but I can feel every part of you,
I know that this time its not frightening,
I make my way all the way down to your ****
and I put it in and we go off,
our ********** feels like it never stops,
we took the time to trace the outlines of each others bodies,
we looked into each others souls,
and now I'm getting ***** faster than eminem's Rap God,
and his body feels like a god,
the *********** begins,
and i'm pleased within,
moaning louder than before,
really hopping the neighbors aren't home next door,
and this is how loving you should feel.
so unreal,
even though its all real.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
*a ****** at her worst
i am opened raw
vulnerable and naked;
no wall
care for me delicately
before you toss me away
understand my flaws,
get to know me
but don't make me change
rock bottom; so it's as they say
i'm thrown a rope of thorns
to find my way
i hear a sound in the distance
it's a voice of reason; a chant of song
cheering me on
i may be mistaken
there ain't no choir for people like me
only a pocket full of prayers;
a head full of dreams
let me go
let me be
let me crawl
on ****** knee
a touch of fate grasps my arm for life
**** it, why fight?
you're watching me closely
aren't you?
(paranoia setting in)
what do you see so special about an angel soaked in sin?
standing on the ledge
below they are screaming JUMP
bare ***** and broken
i just look up*
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
I want the hollow
Cheeks.
The full, adipose, smooth
Lips.
The white-boned,
Pearls she calls
Teeth.
I want the bright, clean,
Sun bleached
Hair.
The fine, sharpened,
Ready for scratching, Spotless
Nails.
The refined, sculpted,
Long, profiled
Nose.
I want gold to flake,
Off my ageing,
porous, dull,
Skin.
I want the protruding,
Famished, angled
Bones.
I want the pumping,
Arrhythmic
Heart.
The tired, hissing,
Tar coated, smoker’s
Lungs.
The round, fleshy,
Cellulite covered
***
The motherly, but
Childless plump
*******
I want the barren,
Bleeding, afflicted
******
I want the faint,
Wispy, high-pitched,
Call that she calls a
Voice.
The bruised, bulging,
Porcelain polished, etched
Knuckles.
The wide, protruding,
Ballooned up, dangling
Hips.
The numb, heavy, metal
Flavored, gum bleeding
Mouth.
I want the skewed,
Backwards, lost
Pedals she calls
Feet.
I want the hearing less,
Wax, pus covered,
Ears.
The lost dull, lifeless
Dumbed down, blue
Eyes.
I want to be her,
All of them, and none.
I want to be lost,
Unwilling, tame, voiceless,
Mindless, childless,
Sexless, man-less.
I want to be her, but I
Can’t.
I cannot because I am
Thought burdened, fat,
Violent, screaming,
Child laden, broken nosed,
Coarse.
I cannot because dirt
Flakes off my young
Skin.
Because my heart pumps,
Oxygenated blood,
At a steady, rhythmic
Beat.
My voice baritones,
Deep, bottomless,
Whispers.
I sit on flat, concave
Muscle.
My lungs breathe,
Strong, fresh, smog-less
Air.
Yellow stained, grainy, calcium-ridden
Teeth.
Dark, musty, greased
Hair.
I want to be her,
But I won’t.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
Oceans couldn't keep me away from you, distances aren't reachable, I'll swim to you, love, street-fight or die trying, the stars and the infinite galaxies won't keep me from your love, it's the same old story, guy meets girl, but I am a fighter and a lover, I'll fight Bulls with no sword, I won't cheat, I'll use my hands, I'll run and ride wild horses to be by your side, I'll swim with sharks with no cage, fearless heart made with fiery stone, our love is deep, and I'll stop at nothing to die by your side, the same old story ... This story is endless, I'll conquer kingdoms, **** them with love to make you mine, till I crawl bare-boned ****** ravished to hold your hand and make you mine...
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 3:25 AM UTC
His head kept bumping on my shoulder
and he was not my father
or anyone I knew
he smelled as if a bath was overdue
and slept like wasn't a place better
than the ***** briefness of my shoulder.
Breaking down was my brittle patience
needled by his bristled cheek
brushed by his shabby dress,
was for rest the man hard pressed?
Wouldn't I have been nudged by pride
if the head on my shoulder was my father
happy to have him by my side?
as he gets older
does his blurry mind miss
a place where he is not alone
one or any shoulder
for an untimely nap in peace
a quiet stranger to rest upon?
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC
Lay me down
in those fields
of silken flowers
where the buzzing
over our heads
whirls us into
lightspun holy
my dress a metaphor
for loneliness
as you lift it off
and let it disintegrate
into the evening's
electric ether
your lips
undoing the tight
leather laces
that have held my
heart in place
until now
Now.
undo them
in unfurled totality
let my feminine essence
drip, in non-verbal words
onto your fingers
let my elements
light you up
from within
firebrand sunset
in molten metallic sheen
indigo lip of ocean
melding into crackling
hiss of earth
and humming
under this
dark rich loam
tiny vibrating buds
sprout from fossils
trilobites become
hazy with new moss
seething insects
lay eggs and spawn
feeling the bloodpulse,
that simmer of surface
in slick magnet energy
Curled stems of wild
poppies and zinnia
tie down my wrists
snake around my thighs
clasp my
tender-boned ankles
as if to open me
up even more
than I thought
my soul
could go
and I do not resist
for soon they will
accompany you
as you decorate my
deepest womb
with blossoms
filling me with your
soul's seed
your musk-scented fervor
nestled, subaqueous
into the root of
my sweet
deep
of
need
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 6:36 PM UTC
Genau, enow, enough
after the confusion,
we all could make a sound, okeh,
yeah
and we still
knew a shaken head or hand or fist
had meaning beyond words and noise
my words, their noise, barbarians all, but my
loved ones, still,
my nana Even , none could say a meaningful word
Ah, papa Eber, eber he be waving sayin'
Shhhhlome. wow. a word, I was
re connected re tied re ligamented re tendoned
re nerved re *****
re bled
re breathed
inspire me, expire me, think me immaterial, no mattah
nomattatall we stick together, gone bealright
begrudge me not a bit o'livit ity, a st-utter here'n'there
words, in wars, we always win. We are war's
raison d'etre, as they say, its
rational grounds for existence, its
excuse for being.
words are the instigators, provocateurs
no wordless insult results in war,
words are needed,
otherwise
fugitabowdit, how long? Seven times? 490 times?
no,
once, each time, no more.
enoughs the evil enoughs enow.
the weapons of our warfare, how can I say,
watch
we see salient leapers trampling the vintage, seeping
from the heel wound in the beguiler's head.
That's results.
Angels sing and dance, they never tremble in the night,
the hope we never lost,
we just forgot, they remember as if it were the same,
yes, today, forever
they whisper,
go on,
there's more to living than meets the eye.
enough has always had a plural, ask Sam Johnson.
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
I lumber sluggishly,
dragging the weight of my body.
Every pound is tethered to me,
I can’t escape the heaviness.
I am stuffed into clothes,
encased in figure-hugging fabric
that looks better on the hanger
than my rounded, fleshy torso.
The scale is an unlucky lottery ticket
displaying a number
that I will carry around
shamefully like a scarlet letter.
I count calories like beads on a rosary,
making sure I shrink to conformity
critical of every extra curve
because to love my size is a societal sin.
Airbrushed beauty queens
and slender starlets
wear their size 0 like a badge of honor
in the battlefront of glossy magazine covers.
I’m crushed with the weight of the world I inhabit
a place that teaches girls to be self-conscious
of each pound that sticks to their body
instead of teaching them to be confident in their own skin.
I’m tired of micromanaging each nutrient that touches my lips,
to achieve a slender frame that resists my big-boned body
self love is not a one-size-fits-all
and I will radically adore every ounce that is tethered to me.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 5:44 PM UTC
the nagging pinpricks that flower in my chest
every time i hold my tongue
when i could take a stand
exhaust me.
some days i wish i were not stirred
by every minor injustice,
by every casual -ism.
i am not all angles and shards.
some days i am soft lines and rounded edges,
some days i am petal-small and twice as fragile,
some days i am tired.
some days the inevitable backlash
of speaking my mind
can send me reeling.
the accumulation of anger and dismissal and mockery
piles upon my shoulders
and seems sometimes too heavy to carry.
but even on these days,
these quiet, glass-boned lows,
i know why i am fighting, and
i know to the core of my being that
i
will
never
stop.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
I see you, now.
Anxious, thick-skinned man; and his
jumped-up, bird-boned boy.
Wet feet sloshing on lazy floorboards,
footprints of a ghost.
Devoted eyes, devoted hands,
flecked with aureolin and azure.
Wild eyes, shaky hands,
speckled with blood and dirt.
Why have you dragged him here to see me,
yet again?
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
I am not old, yet.
My skin is not powdery and white, see-through like a paper lantern.
But there is a part of me which
When I dare to reach for someone I love
Reaches with brittle ***** fingers, soft and cold and fluttering like white moths
That edge closer to a flame until they catch.
There is a part of me that feels old, and fragile.
And already even in the crest of my youth I’ve cursed this body
For its frailty, its needs.
It suffers and complains, always crying out for something,
Never sated, never still.
I’ve said it feels like living inside a porcelain doll
A look, and cracks can spider out along an arm,
A word and blood can bloom beneath the surface, seeping up into
Bruised pictures and symbols.
I must always be gentle,
I must always be
Watching.
Too passionate, and fissures form, marring the cheek, spreading like shadows thrown by a lace curtain.
I stare out, burning to touch everything,
And yet I pull back:
To dare is to risk, and I’ve seen
Both reward and loss.
I have seen a thousand shining colors spread across me like sunrise,
Warming my skin,
Calling to me like prayer until a bit of light escaped through the spaces between my atoms and reached another person’s palms,
But I have also seen the pale, flat shards of myself,
Sifted through white dust in dismay
For a salvageable portion.
Indeed, there are rooms in this world where sharp edges of me still linger
Waiting in obstructed corners and beneath heavy refrigerators
To gouge a foot or snag a hem,
Interred
In the dark and hollow places where they flew when I shattered and could not gather them all.
I have known
Intimately
My own fragility,
How maddeningly breakable I am
And how difficult to mend.
And there is a part of me now, always,
Which whispers to me when I would be bold,
“You are not old, yet.
But wouldn’t you just love
To live that long?”
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 10:36 PM UTC
FLANDERS, the name of a place, a country of people,
Spells itself with letters, is written in books.
"Where is Flanders?" was asked one time,
Flanders known only to those who lived there
And milked cows and made cheese and spoke the home language.
"Where is Flanders?" was asked.
And the slang adepts shot the reply: Search me.
A few thousand people milking cows, raising radishes,
On a land of salt grass and dunes, sand-swept with a sea-breath on it:
This was Flanders, the unknown, the quiet,
The place where cows hunted lush cuds of green on lowlands,
And the raw-boned plowmen took horses with long shanks
Out in the dawn to the sea-breath.
Flanders sat slow-spoken amid slow-swung windmills,
Slow-circling windmill arms turning north or west,
Turning to talk to the swaggering winds, the childish winds,
So Flanders sat with the heart of a kitchen girl
Washing wooden bowls in the winter sun by a window.
2.1k
I confront my prejudice
How will the girls in my script look?
I admit, I expect them to all be Disney Perfect
But that goes against my values
I know the damage perfect does
There is no perfect, there is only diversity
How can one genetic look always outshine the others?
Tall, thin, blonde with large breasts. Long legs and arms. Size 0.
No, there is beauty in difference
and it can be put on film
not as a side show, but the main attraction
I learned from my mother
Beauty is a mirage
An eternal struggle of pain
of hunger, the knife, the self hatred
that is never attained
A petite Scottish woman, medium *****
a dancer with a beautiful body and face
and a slasher for an inner voice, striking her at every move
It's in me, too
I learned the lessons of beauty as I learned Calculus in my high school texts
This is the formula, this is the way it is
The proof is it is all around us in the media
Body very thin, ******* very large
Size 0 without ribs, and hip bones and shoulder bones sticking out
How the stylists repel when they see that evidence of starvation
And large, engorged ******* ready to feed an army of babies
"nature doesn't make women like that" commented a model
before she had "augmentation"
If I am to create this world, my story
I must confront myself
I must accept my form, and its history
A body never born to be size 0
without ribs or bones showing
or six feet tall
or small *****
or large breasted without extra flesh everywhere
A body scarred by the affects of poverty
worry, and struggle
A resilient body, a strong body
and one that does not fit the mold
of "beauty" and never did
but at the same time, is beautiful
but not in the accepted form
like my mother
If I don't accept myself
if I can't look at myself and say this is OK
This is who I am and it is just fine
How will I accept it in my characters?
How will I look beyond appearance to the soul?
You don't make a good story with models
That is a fashion show
You make a good story with people who are unique
with their own configurations and unique qualities
even in their flesh
Jul 22, 2012
Jul 22, 2012 at 2:12 PM UTC
After the milking's done,
Farmer gone to house and bed,
Rag-tag tabbies, half-breed furs,
Assemble by the milking stool
Yowl a bit, then settle down to purrs.
Rosined up, a straw-boned bow
Emits a violinic fiddle's skirl,
And one by one the mousers
Stand on twos to take a matted floor.
Come, let us see you pirouette,
You puissant pouncers.
Lightly spin those furry toes;
Sheath deep those claws to put
Perfection in your prances;
Balance on your tails, and spin;
Exercise or exorcise in cattish dances
The feline feelings you are in.
Dance happily and furiously...
Or sinuously and slow...
Whatever moods mouse-
Murderers can feel or know.
Enjoy the dance, ye half-breed cats.
Never mind the jealous schemes of mice,
Nor terroristic plots of leagues of rats.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
Wood of crimson & bone where the dead
lie still, leaves are their burial
Rites they fall from life to
Canvas,
Shroud,
Envelope
The flesh, for the fallen are the
Food of the wood, new life
Reaches up, Roots entangle
Around every bone,
Interweaved,
Disordered,
Chaotic
Lifelessness now scattered
Among the roots of this linage
Of old, new saplings
Now sprung forth from the
Leaved burials that litter the floor,
They call this forest, leaves of blood
As all leaves that grow forth are
Crimson,
Burgundy,
Blossoming
Forth, as if each leaf has life of its own,
Each of the branches growing
Resemblance of ***** fingers reaching
Out to a world, wisps
Encircle,
Envelope,
Halos
Of white mist greet all trees,
As if the souls of the departed
Sleep silently around this gravestone
Of wood, And leaves one again
Fall, not all just one, and this tree with
No leaves, now resting upon the floor
Like the features of bones grow out and forth
As some where in this
Forest of crimson and bone,
A body now rests in its tome of red
This is the home of the dead, where the trees grow.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 6:35 AM UTC
In this tightly interwoven
tapestry of
silks and cottons
softness upon stems
an intricately-boned
journey
manifesto of life
I find myself in
patchwork landscapes
of ochre and
rust turning
turquoise
earthern shades
of cumin and cardamom
cloves and coriander
piquant red of paprika
alighting the senses
My fingers reach out
to sift the powder
to crush
fragrant fronds
of fresh basil and oregano
upon the blueprint of tips
allow their scent
to permeate my skin
and infuse tissue
of tongue and lips
and I seem to be
in this
bustling marketplace
my blood afire like
dried ghost pepper
searing and brightening
all flavors
fenugreek and asafoetida
to soothe the ache
of emptiness
chervil and chive
to get juices flowing
I want to slit open
vanilla pods
get at the beans
revel in their essence
wear it all over me
In this realm of spice
and paradise
I am flying,
a magic carpet of dreams
unrolling before me
like an unfurled flag
of new existence
The sounds of hagglers,
fading in raw visons
of shiny apple colors
olives piled high
textures of smooth cherry
budded broccoli
of walnut wrinkles
aroma of guava
Music takes over
I am in a cloud of
oud and lute
syncopated tabla
bells and rumbling
taut skin drum beats
Or is that long low whir
simply my heart purring
to the cadence of
freedom's call?
I only know
that in the whisk
of a second's split
I will savor the flight
and also the
fall
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 4:51 PM UTC