"chattered" poems
"While I sit at the door
Sick to gaze within
Mine eye weepeth sore
For sorrow and sin:
As a tree my sin stands
To darken all lands;
Death is the fruit it bore.
"How have Eden bowers grown
Without Adam to bend them!
How have Eden flowers blown
Squandering their sweet breath
Without me to tend them!
The Tree of Life was ours,
Tree twelvefold-fruited,
Most lofty tree that flowers,
Most deeply rooted:
I chose the tree of death.
"Hadst thou but said me nay,
Adam, my brother,
I might have pined away;
I, but none other:
God might have let thee stay
Safe in our garden,
By putting me away
Beyond all pardon.
"I, Eve, sad mother
Of all who must live,
I, not another,
Plucked bitterest fruit to give
My friend, husband, lover;--
O wanton eyes, run over;
Who but I should grieve?--
Cain hath slain his brother:
Of all who must die mother,
Miserable Eve!"
Thus she sat weeping,
Thus Eve our mother,
Where one lay sleeping
Slain by his brother.
Greatest and least
Each piteous beast
To hear her voice
Forgot his joys
And set aside his feast.
The mouse paused in his walk
And dropped his wheaten stalk;
Grave cattle wagged their heads
In rumination;
The eagle gave a cry
From his cloud station;
Larks on thyme beds
Forbore to mount or sing;
Bees drooped upon the wing;
The raven perched on high
Forgot his ration;
The conies in their rock,
A feeble nation,
Quaked sympathetical;
The mocking-bird left off to mock;
Huge camels knelt as if
In deprecation;
The kind hart's tears were falling;
Chattered the wistful stork;
Dove-voices with a dying fall
Cooed desolation
Answering grief by grief.
Only the serpent in the dust
Wriggling and crawling,
Grinned an evil grin and ******
His tongue out with its fork.
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Forth into the forest straightway
All alone walked Hiawatha
Proudly, with his bow and arrows,
And the birds sang round him, o’er him,
“Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!”
Sang the robin, the Opechee,
Sang the blue bird, the Owaissa,
“Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!”
Up the oak tree, close beside him,
Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo,
In and out among the branches,
Coughed and chattered from the oak tree,
Laughed, and said between his laughing,
“Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!”
And the rabbit from his pathway
Leaped aside, and at a distance
Sat ***** upon his haunches,
Half in fear and half in frolic,
Saying to the little hunter,
“Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!”
But he heeded not, nor heard them,
For his thoughts were with the red deer;
On their tracks his eyes were fastened,
Leading downward to the river,
To the ford across the river,
And as one in slumber walked he,
Hidden in the alder bushes.
There he waited till the deer came,
Till he saw two antlers lifted,
Saw two eyes look from the thicket,
Saw two nostrils point to windward,
And a deer came down the pathway,
Flecked with leafy light and shadow.
And his heart within him fluttered,
Trembled like the leaves above him,
Like the birch-leaf palpitated,
As the deer came down the pathway.
Then, upon one knee uprising,
Hiawatha aimed an arrow;
Scarce a twig moved with his motion,
Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled,
But the wary roebuck started,
Stamped with all his hoofs together,
Listened with one foot uplifted,
Leaped as if to meet the arrow;
Ah! the singing, fatal arrow,
Like a wasp it buzzed and stung him!
Dead he lay there in the forest,
By the ford across the river;
Beat his timid heart no longer,
But the heart of Hiawatha
Throbbed and shouted and exulted,
As he bore the red deer homeward,
And Iagoo and Nokomis
Hailed his coming with applauses.
From the red deer’s hide Nokomis
Made a cloak for Hiawatha,
From the red deer’s flesh Nokomis
Made a banquet in his honor.
All the village came and feasted,
All the guests praised Hiawatha,
Called him Strong-heart, Soan-ge-taha!
Called him Loon-Heart, Mahn-go-taysee!
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Through the country paths, I lazily loitered,
watching Nature in its changing hue
straying farther into the interiors,
sundry and sublime vistas came into view.
in response to zephyr’s warm embrace,
the silvery leaves joyously fluttered.
the bees busied themselves collecting pollen
and birds on tree tops merrily chattered
it was the *** end of verdant spring.
summer’s sun stood behind my head.
bleat of sheep was heard from far.
‘Good day to you’….. Someone said.
There stood on the hill, a boy around fifteen
obviously he was of tribal breed.
with a beaming smile, he greeted me
but on walking to him, he ran like a steed
I saw him disappear behind the trees
and enter into a hut tiny as a nest
he lived in the lap of Mother Nature,
far from the city and its sooty dust
being coaxed, he hesitantly came out.
my tone of assurance and pleasing smile,
seemed to have won his confidence
as to a friend, he shared his eventful tale.
pointing to the sheep grazing in the slope,
he said, he earned a living caring the flock.
he stayed in the woods all day long,
feeding and tending his master’s sheep.
from dawn to dusk, through woods and meads,
he leads his sheep, calling them by their name.
un vexed, with simple pleasures he is content
and with a nomad’s life, he seems to be tame
he said, at home he has his invalid mother.
bringing her back to health is his mission in life
on referring to his mother, I watched his eyes glitter
nothing other than her illness posed to him a strife
from every utterance, I could sense his filial love.
even in abundance, while shadows line many faces,
on his visage, hope lingered as a dancing flame
to me he seemed above many, rich in other graces!
While parting, I handed him a little money
pausing unbelievably, with moist eyes
he accepted it, when a breeze passed caressing us
as if over a kind gesture, Nature seemed to rejoice!
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC
I still remember
the drawn out afternoons,
the minutes passing without a thing to do,
the clock just a metronome
keeping us in time.
I poked fun at you without reason;
jealousy leads one into themselves it seems.
Do you recall?
We were carnal beings...
I'd apologize for my egoistic banter,
but apologies are best left to the
eulogizer,
and this may be some sort of graveside whisper;
a long-winded to-do list of idle talk.
I'd call you
"Lesbia", "Rosalind",
"my diadem stashed away",
but twenty-two months wore words away
and it would seem like frantic blandishing.
Maybe in my own life
I may be able to demonstrate
what William Yeats had meant
by a body quarreling with it's soul,
but I think -- You're delusional! --
that I could be content.
I remember everything ---
I remember the yielded heart feels a subtle sting.
The yew chattered in the wind outside your
window and I felt rooted
as I told you
I was you and would always be.
But twenty-two months is a long time.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
EVERY LITTLE FISH CAN SWIM
1893
saw the beginning of me.
I was born
in a railway carriage
between somewhere
and somewhere else
in an Europe that
would change with the map
the lines redrawn
by War
some unpronouncable
European nowhere.
A barrel *****
was playing a tune that
would soon be forgotten
on the station platform
when Mamma and I
arrived
at our final destination
the train breathing like a dragon.
Its whistle
cutting through time.
Later I would remember
a little wooden acorn
at the end of a string on the blind
tapping against the window
as if it were admonishing
the dawn demanding
entrance to
the room when I was three and
pulling the blind up and then
pulling the blind down.
"Shadow people"
thrown against the wall
would not survive
a morning.
All night they chattered
amongst themselves
prowling the room
that was holding me.
Debating whether to
eat me now or later.
"Beings" merely made from
the edge of a wardrobe or
a chest of drawers
the brass **** at the end of
my bed where clothes
thrown over a chair
made them come alive
I believe
in them until
I was nearly seven.
Too scared to ***
in the porcelain ***
wetting the bed
to the anger of Mama.
And now 1963
will more than likely see
the end of me
as I am
and the mind
that created who I was
offers me these
fragments of insignificance
that amount
to being a life.
I laugh as Noël
Coward warbles
in his shellac'd world
forever singing
"But I can't do anything at all
but just love you!"
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 5:57 AM UTC
we met like two birds landing on a wire
and chattered with our chirping sounds that sing
at distance where no flights could we conspire
though thoughts of love nests set our ******* on fire
like humans holding tight to form a ring
we met like two birds landing on a wire
that laid upon the face of earth's attire
so far that only light-boxes could bring
at distance where no flights could we conspire
yet caught by love like wings snagged in a brier
two lovebirds sought to ease loneliness's sting
we met like two birds landing on a wire
and dreamed since then of hatchlings we could sire
with eggshells cracking at the scent of Spring
at distance where no flights could we conspire
above the clouds now dreams have floated higher
and soaring past the heavens there do sing
we met like two birds landing on a wire
at distance where no flights could we conspire
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 11:39 PM UTC
A pale sky hovered above me as I walked
Through mountains and valleys vast,
Passing folk who chattered and talked
About days of old and the past,
Of when dragons roamed freely
Bringing terror and fire and fear,
Of when people breathed heavily
Wanting life while the end was near.
“For only beasts could bring the end of man.”
Although man was one of the greatest,
Condemning kin to their bedpan,
Truly, the worst ever created.
And yet they fear the children of time!
As if marvelous creatures so divine
Could bring harm to those without crime!
Who only care to build temple and shrine!
While the true masters of mankind
Are the ones breathing fire in the sky…
Dragonborn, the last of my kind,
As I wandered, I chose who to glorify.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 2:34 AM UTC
First the Governor, the Father:
He suggested velvet curtains
looped about a massy pillar;
And the corner of a table,
Of a rosewood dining-table.
He would hold a scroll of something,
Hold it firmly in his left-hand;
He would keep his right-hand buried
(Like Napoleon) in his waistcoat;
He would contemplate the distance
With a look of pensive meaning,
As of ducks that die in tempests.
Grand, heroic was the notion:
Yet the picture failed entirely:
Failed, because he moved a little,
Moved, because he couldn't help it.
Next, his better half took courage;
She would have her picture taken.
She came dressed beyond description,
Dressed in jewels and in satin
Far too gorgeous for an empress.
Gracefully she sat down sideways,
With a simper scarcely human,
Holding in her hand a bouquet
Rather larger than a cabbage.
All the while that she was sitting,
Still the lady chattered, chattered,
Like a monkey in the forest.
"Am I sitting still ?" she asked him.
"Is my face enough in profile?
Shall I hold the bouquet higher?
Will it come into the picture?"
And the picture failed completely.
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THE ROSES slanted crimson sobs
On the night sky hair of the women,
And the long light-fingered men
Spoke to the dark-haired women,
"Nothing lovelier, nothing lovelier."
How could he sit there among us all
Guzzling blood into his guts,
Goblets, mugs, buckets-
Leaning, toppling, laughing
With a slobber on his mouth,
A smear of red on his strong raw lips,
How could he sit there
And only two or three of us see him?
There was nothing to it.
He wasn't there at all, of course.
The roses leaned from the pots.
The sprays snot roses gold and red
And the roses slanted crimson sobs
In the night sky hair
And the voices chattered on the way
To the frappe, speaking of pictures,
Speaking of a strip of black velvet
Crossing a girlish woman's throat,
Speaking of the mystic music flash
Of pots and sprays of roses,
"Nothing lovelier, nothing lovelier."
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You came to me tonight with questions of loyalty
in your eyes, but all you found was my breathless
and naked body on the soft carpet of my bedroom.
My vanity mirror was cracked in all the places
you had called me beautiful, and you saw my lipstick
drawings of skeleton girls scattered across my bed.
Curse words clogged up your throat. Your teeth chattered
out a Morse Code version of " how could you?",
and when your hands stopped punching the walls,
all ****** and broken, you used them to crack open my rib cage.
Searching, I think, for some swallowed suicide note.
You knew the only thing I could stand to eat,
were the words I wish I'd never spoken.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 8:03 PM UTC
Orange canoe leaves and castling roots
and a potpourri of rocks and twigs and mosses
hailed my pathway.
Fresh, white flowers mingled with their rusted sisters
upon the ground, like copper-splashed jasper.
The canoe leaves curled
as the white and rusted flowers tumbled through them
like toppled teacups and feathered, Victorian party hats.
Their christened sisters mirrored them among the boughs above
and talked loftily about the treetops
as the fallen ones chattered amidst *******
and the roots dividing the tables of their tea party—
unaware, and heedless, of how far they’d fallen.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC
“Poor Harry Gill” I will say never,
Yet what a fate befell that wight:
For dead and buried long, still ever
He shivers morning, day, and night.
And so long chattered all his teeth
That not a tooth his sad mouth owns:
Pass by his plot and hear beneath
The clattering of frigid bones!
O.O
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
The music's best on the dark
side of town, I heard. It seemed miles
from home, after waiting in a long traffic jam
But the lights finally changed
from glamorous shining to dull neon, covered in smoke
drifting up from drifters outside the Black Cat.
By the fluorescent green sign, a cat
was painted, its fur dark
as the alley I stood in, engulfed in smoke.
The cat perched atop Miles
Davis's trumpet. Bums hassled me for change
and a few drummed on buckets, jamming
with a harmonica player, synched as jam
and peanut butter. I stepped into the Black Cat,
and from the facade saw no change.
The lights turned low, the club dark
as the alley outside. A Miles
record hovered through the smoke.
The people chattered like bees, smoking,
waiting for the players to jam.
At last, the bass player laid down a line miles
long, the drummer chinked in, and the cats
began to groove. They chilled my bones with dark
melodies, pounding through spooky chord changes.
Soon sunbeams shone through the storm, they changed
to an upbeat swing tune. The horn smoked,
hitting riffs unheard, astounding the dark
faces gazing on in awe. They jammed
endless as the ocean. The cats
started to play a popular Miles
song. The crowd hollered in Miles'
memory as the horn steered through the changes
with the skill of the legend of the Black Cat.
The band, nearly invisible through the haze of smoke
thick in the air, strawberry jam,
soon faded to dark.
Miles Davis’s ghost flowed through the smoke,
awakened by the chord changes, grooving to the jam.
The hippest cat alive or dead, now he plays in the dark.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 11:06 PM UTC
wind in the willows and the hollow tree's maw
the howl and the moan, chattered whippoorwill song
golden leaves crumble into golden leaf dust
withered willow creaks and sways however it may,
dancing to demented beat from perverse piper's pipe.
The moon is gone hiding not present on stage
of this eerie queer setting in this most uncanny scene
hark, come in the calling owls
sing harsh the shadow come by bleating of night's drum
a hit come dark, a hit pitch shadow cast on the land.
Owls call who, call who to none there
crickets screech a symphony with wicked leg's sliding
horned incessant toads boom tenor through the night.
Come twilight, come dawn
the moon is chased from clouds to the horizon it returns.
come 'gain the whippoorwills with strange and deviant song
come now the shady crows to join and gibe along.
When light comes now through purple veil of dark and mal' cast
cascades the sun through horrid mask; the sky a great cloud
a swirling pool, a terrific mass, a great storm of poison,
can't run for fear for end is near
solace in light is naught,there is no savior from the tempest.
The night was prologue enough, now day will be pure no longer
the nymph of sun ***** in taint of wicked shadow's hand
now alone evil and mal' shall stand.
So come the crows, come the raven
sing a devil's tune with the chitter of the chattering birds
sway now the willow, howl the wind and moan along
laugh the maws gaped of the trees
whirl the wind, wither and crumble the plants; now gone.
dance and sing and cry as one, symphony
symphony fade to whisper... whisper fade to dust...
Sep 19, 2011
Sep 19, 2011 at 12:25 AM UTC
THE ARRIVAL OF ENIGMA
The square dressed itself
in moonlight
as if it were on its way
to a fancy dress ball
as one of de Chirico's
masterpieces.
The puppets
after an inspired performance
lay tangled together
in a box on the bridge.
They waited as their world
was dismantled and
their stage sets stacked
neatly against a wall.
A glass eye winked but
didn't think the human saw.
But the human saw.
Or was it just the moon?
The moon played hide
and seek behind a cloud.
The puppets chattered
amongst themselves
untangling each other
as they planned their escape.
But before anything could
come of this
they were tossed carelessly into a case
that snapped shut with sudden finality.
They were carried away
into the early hours of the morning.
The rebellion of wood
had been scotched.
We used the left over de Chirico
as a scene to stage a kiss
as if we had been painted
into place ourselves.
"The Arrival of Enigma"
or some such title
scrawled in litter
below our feet.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
Like a sleepwalker
she passed through each day.
Voices chattered in her head,
Snatches of conversations
That she could not quite catch.
She dropped like a stone through her emotions
And lay in silence on the bottom.
Battered and bruised
She ached at every turn,
Or floated softly among the shadows
Guarding her spirit.
It seemed she had passed
Through a threshold of pain
That held her on the edge,
Like the new born......
And the shadows nurtured her
Behind the veil of her own consciousness,
Waiting for the memory
To rise up into the light of her being.
When it came she was filled with fire,
Warming her as it spread
through her soul,
And she knew a new knowledge
That was older than she,
Older than her previous selves ,
Older than the Earth.
Slowly,she raised herself,
Taller than she'd ever been.
Filled with courage
she stepped out,
Over the edge,
And she joined all of her other selves,
Embracing them with open arms.
Sobbing,she acknowledged herself
As she flew with her shadows
Back through time,
Back to her beginning
From whence she had first set out
In the darkness of ignorance.
The light shone so brightly,
Drawing her own light towards it
In a spinning ****** so intense
That she let go of herself,
Separating into a million points
of light as she joined the pool.
Her lights bounced off each light
They touched in an ecstasy of greeting.
Looking back ,
Towards the edge,
She watched the shadows
Nod their satisfaction
Before they turned away,
Fading into the darkness that was the Earth.
Nov 26, 2021
Nov 26, 2021 at 2:25 PM UTC
I took a walk within the woods,
A creek I had to cross.
The water was flowing swiftly,
I did not see the moss.
Before that moss I ever saw,
I took an awful crash.
The waters were so very cold,
As soaked when I did splash!
I cannot swim but the water
Was shallow at the time.
I slid again and fell back in,
Upon some algae slime.
The folks that walked behind just laughed
And I got mad wit 'em.
I wish they could fall in that creek,
Then I would laugh at 'em.
My teeth they chattered so fiercely
I thought I break a few;
The last creek that I had to cross
I fell in they did too!
{ Weasel }
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC
you squeezed it from its little packet
onto your glazed doughnut
mindlessly committing culinary blasphemy
without a sound
others did not notice
until they saw the yellow remnants
on your red wax lips
they said nothing
for their rapt attention was on the boss
who chattered on about grand ideas
while you guiltlessly chewed and swallowed
I missed nothing
for your bold foray
into comestible “paradigm shifts”
was of far more interest to me
than the inflated business at hand
like sweet custard on a Frito pie
your mustard caught my eye
and had me pondering
the elusive mysteries
of mind and mouth
while others gazed at our leader’s clean moving lips
untroubled by their enchantment
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
The crucible was a battle
fought by two sinners
both likely to sell the other out
or to shoot one another.
One wore a necklace
of tight inlaid shininess and red.
It was laced with a satin bow
and imbedded with an insignificant little ruby
tied around her neck,
her lovely ringlets hid in the sunshine.
She knew her life was sacred.
Mostly she was right,
but christened in her own right,
it was never suggested to her
that there was any other way around.
The darker side was originally ambivalent
to the nature
of the afflicted golden ringlets.
Thrashing and fighting it,
he, the darkness,
was finally struck with love.
The ambivalent subsided beneath
the imaginary plinth he prayed at,
and there he prayed.
Retorted only through silence as most gods do,
God responded.
Each time the ambivalent shook
and chattered his teeth
as his fears were becoming
all so real.
Waiting to hear a sound
And nothing was there.
He understood the emptiness.
He was truly suffering,
but ultimately obliged to the goodness
of every single perfect ringlet
that made up the woman’s hair.
He knew the repercussions
of going on in other fashions,
and chose instead to end it there
before he had her locked in all their passions.
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 9:10 PM UTC
Pawny, the orange stray played with her
That was odd
The crows chattered outside her window
The mynas silently observed from the fence
Dear Mr. Cooper never left her side
It was not unusual that the day was cloudy
It often is here in the equatorial
The accompanying heavy gloom in the sky
and all around was not the norm though
As passers-by seemed to mention
The smell of fresh jasmine was in the air
So much fragrance couldn't possibly come
from one plant
The chatter of the sparrows were toned down today
But only a clever observer could have noticed
She called everyone to say hi
She never calls, everyone knows
Still the others didn't know, couldn't have known
Even she didn't know
That today was to be her last day as a physical being
She went to bed just like on many other nights
Tossing for a while playing her sudoku
Which usually lulled her to sleep
When she awoke, though she thought
it was morning, it seemed like she was sitting near the sun
She looked around, her old friends, dead friends
were all around
Kimmy was there and so was Pompy
She felt so happy, she didn't even bother to ask
Only the sound of loud wailing
shook her a little
and there in the cloud she saw
a moving picture
Of her dear ones crying
And she laying there, almost smiling
As lifeless as the flowers placed on her
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 5:11 AM UTC
My blood can be given
My bloods treasure hidden
My blood is neo complex
My bloods sacred harness
My blood has been hurt
My blood still flows slow
My bloods gold that grows
My blood can save lives
My blood can give A B & O
My blood pressure rises
My blood boils for you
My blood craves your soul
My blood signals the heart
My blood feels whats real
My blood begs you
To stop the precious
Blood you spill
One day might ****
Please baby take a pill
Or just sit back & chill
Read a book, learn
I don't want you to burn
It's the wrong turn
Instead be safe stay warm
Don't do yourself harm
Please don't hurt
Your precious arm
I will hold tight in the night
Watching the moon light
Everything will feel right
Trust me honey,
My precious bunny,
Happy for nothing,
Smile like something funny
When we're just
Tag team partners
Love can't be explained
Two hearts felt the same
Chattered doesn't matter
Came together last forever
Likely dying not never ever
Surviving every weather
Angels spiritual feathers
Me you a dream come true
Far from perfect
Imperfect creation abound
Put in a world devastation
Keep focus concentration
Sorry for my mistakes
My relationship I'd partake
A lesson eyes wide awake
Opened new life's token
Truth revealed & spoken
Nevertheless,
You're still the best
Bypass all the rest
Spiritually excelled the test
Placed divines hidden spell
Upon me, my eyes my cry
You touched my heart
A master of love & art
My professor, my teacher
My intellectual preacher
Bright mind, form 2 bind
As one, hug for fun
I bug you
bcuz I love you
I pick on you
bcuz I'm stuck on you
I follow you
bcuz I wanna shower you
I think of you
Bcuz I sink underwater
I want you
Bcuz my eye's only see you
Thank you, for
Placing this love,
For being my first
My teacher, my preacher
My professor
And not my aggressor
Nor oppressor ;D
So please babe stop cutting your wrists & legs you hurt, I hurt, you cry I cry, you're in pain I'm insane, what you feel I can feel, stop the blood spill, do it for me if you truly love mi vida...
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
Now! the damson crush of swallow wing
to foal the brays of uwound April,
in chattered sleeks of broom gleam hail
that agitate these pagan grains.
Where bud-nip rusts of Bullfinch creak
the gates of prickled secrecy,
the platted creed of wren-song
yolks the whiting peeks of May.
Where an absinthe canter quills a yarn
of nether-world calligraphy
with missives of anemone to
prose the woke terrain,
so a gattling shack of magpies prat
along the miscreants of bine
that heckle servile atrophy in
lung sweet roots of anchored sage
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 12:06 PM UTC
I took you to my favorite place
right after.
You wore your "adventure hat"
I ******* hated that piece of felt
You chattered aimlessly
hinted at prospective bliss
The flashing lights were before me
yet the food
told me to proceed
Fried food seemed intimate enough.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 1:16 AM UTC