"contorts" poems
I have bruises like amethyst
But the truth is I’m the catalyst
When I see colours of bismuth
I know you mean business
Bruises like amethyst
But you say you’re a pacifist
An analyst an activist
But you held my mind so it contorts, distorts
And aborts so it can’t resonate or fabricate
Or rationalise a world inside
That doesn't exist and insists
That I can’t be kissed and won’t be missed
I've got a black heart like tourmaline
But I'm the alkaline to your acid time
Trust me I am fine, I'm a pale blue
Crystalline Structural perfection
Don’t need your affection or your ways
Of objections did my bra strap give you an
Erection?
You could say I'm a feminist
But I'm more of a scientist
Busting body myths like biologist
You say ‘but **** are ****** organs’
Listen you morons, all ******* are a erogenous zone
Regardless of gender , boys nips literally have no purpose
Except when they get nervous for getting a little lip service
Trust me I'm fine, I'm a pale white crystalline
Structural perfection I don’t need your objection
Not a gem stone for your collar bone I don’t give a **** about
Your muscle tone, I'm a cyclone all alone I could spend a
1,000 years on my own.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
It’s the kind of sadness where your rib cage
Contorts
And twists and
Snaps.
Depression doesn’t float through my veins
It crawls through my bones, with dagger hands
And winding movements.
I cannot breathe.
And yet there was nothing taken from me.
Jun 16, 2019
Jun 16, 2019 at 11:41 PM UTC
*Dust on the ledge, before me, magnified
Smell of gun oil in my nostrils and cramp in the calves
The boredom of the wait intensifies,
Stale air in my loft is full of must
With the failing light I’m grateful it is almost time to stand down.
Through the cross hair sprints a target
An ordinary, everyday, running target,
I know not who this target is,
I know not why it runs across my sights,
But because it is, where it is,
It becomes my enemy.
In a microcosm of time
the loud bang alters things forever.
The buck of the rifle’s recoil,
The immediate sour stench of the shot washes back across my face.
The intoxication felt, in being the one who caresses the trigger.
The satisfaction earned in deservedly making the ****
My target spirals in mid stride,
Contorts in agony
And collapses to the rough tarmac
To lie dishevelled, an insignificant, dishevelled item.
Checking the **** through the telescopic sight
I see the rough stubble of the chin,
The nicotine stain on the fingers,
I see the colour of the eyes are pale blue.
…I know well, it will breathe no more.
With descending twilight
I trudge from my tower perch
With the long ****** rifle slung across my weary shoulders
The crones in the street glare as I walk by
There is a loathing in their aged eyes, It is a tangible thing.
I know they have no knowledge of the target,
But they know, however, that there has been a killing made for the cause.
A cold beer would be nice.
God! how I hate these young punks with purple hair.*
Marshalg
Gaza, Palestine/Mogadishu, Somalia/Kabul, Afghanistan/Tehran, Iran/Cairo, Egypt/Islamabad, Pakistan/Soweto, South Africa/Dier El Zour Province, Syria/Beirut, Lebanon/Baghdad, Iraq/Tripoli, Libya/Pristina, Kosovo/Grozny,Chechen Republic/Veracruz, Mexico/Guatemala City, Guatemala/Sao Paulo, Brazil/Moscow, Russia.
27 November 2012
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 8:17 PM UTC
Together we swim,
Skin touching satin skin
Fingertips grazing knees and thighs
As my engine of a heart enters overdrive with glee
Her breath keeps me alive against the strain of our instincts
My breath catches and my body contorts
Until I am suddenly entangled with a hooded figure instead
His heavy limbs pin me against the wall and his hands greedily search through my home
I realize I am being robbed but
He's not a stranger
His lips warm my neck and I choke on his telltale cologne as his hands hastily break through the deepest closets that house my innocence, my treasures, and no matter how sternly I refuse, he shoves through the doors until he finds exactly what he wants
I thought it was hidden
I thought it was safe
I thought it was mine
He smiles and lavishly thrusts his hands into my special box
Thanking me,
Between heavy breaths,
for giving him access to my prized possession,
To my heart
But
when he asked for a taste
I refused. But
He insisted and
Kept pushing
Pushing
And pushing against the wooden door until it splintered and snapped and he could enter with
Or without
My permission
Once inside, I had no choice
but to let him manhandle my possessions,
I can never again close that door that He broke
To fulfill his needs and
To satisfy his craving
Although he leaves with satisfaction dripping from his palms
I know it won't last forever
His hunger will return again,
Stronger.
And no matter how much I invest in new locks
and thicker blockades around my special space
He has already stolen a taste of the core of my emotions that
That door served to protect
He will return again,
with a sense of entitlement to my insides
And I won't fight back
Because his sweaty palms and greasy skin have already leaked onto the pieces
Even those he had not yet touched
My pure and personal secret now leaves nothing but bitterness on my tongue and stains on my body
And now,
I still feel his hands, not hers
I hear his breathing
Feel his weight pressing against me,
His hands destroying my body
I become hysterical and
Tears burn my eyes and stain our sheets.
I see the panic in her eyes
She doesn't know
She doesn't know I'm ***** and broken
She doesn't know why
And I can't
stop
crying
She's scared.
I would be too
But I'm dead inside.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 4:25 PM UTC
I see a face in the mirror and wonder,
Who can that be?
Surely that girl can't be me...
Her face holds a happy smile,
Her cheeks have no stains,
Her entire expression is frozen.
I knew that surely we weren't the same...
I am empty and devoid of joy,
I have cried so many tears,
My cheeks are permanently stained.
My face contorts like a monster,
Dealing with conflicting emotions.
Surely we aren't the same.
The girl in the mirror checks her makeup,
She walks out the door.
I'm left with the realization,
I am not me anymore.
The girl in the mirror is who I've become.
Frozen.
Acting.
Reese Witherspoon couldn't have done better.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 7:27 AM UTC
Breaths apart.
These eyes could work as one.
Legs
Tied together.
Chest to chest, we couldn't be any closer.
It dawns on me what you mean to me.
I can't leave.
Your fingers trail down my cheek,
Leaving fire in its track.
I'm burning for more.
I can't leave.
My future,
Didn't involve this place.
I was meant to be with the changing seasons,
The evergreen trees;
In small towns with infinite possibilities.
But I can't leave.
My heart skips a beat.
Two.
Three.
Your face contorts,
You know I'm thinking.
You know my mind:
A thousand thoughts per minute.
You lean in,
As if we weren't close enough.
"Tell me," you say.
Your hand trails down my back,
And I'm liquid to the touch.
You pull me closer.
My head is shaking,
Saying no to more.
I'm getting too attached.
"I can't-"
I try to say.
"I won't leave."
Now, your shaking your head.
You laugh against my neck-
This isn't funny.
You say my name and I'm gone.
"I go," you say "wherever you go."
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 9:56 AM UTC
*baby in the crib, turns closed eyes into dream-light
young boy at the window, eyes on the calf
woman with the cow, flies milling around the eyes*
1.
every morning, with a penchant for rising before his hour
he stands, sees the calf at the wooden-fence
watches with the fawn-coloured beauty of sea-shell heartbeat..
the rising-eye
while his sister, nearly a young-woman, washes dishes with eyeballs
out the tiny-window
heifer passes by and he looks straight into eyes – gentle eyes –
soothes calamity
2.
in the cold morning on the farmstead, the baby curls in its warm-folds
she chases off the flies from the horns
and cleans gummed-openings
yet deity’s crown falls from splendour this day
as moments devoured by need eventually bear witness
to warm dripping in the sand
the bowl is filled
(high-scale horror)
and the boy has seen it, too
he holds his arms round him to stop the wholesale-shaking.. bites down hard
as his face contorts baleful.. in impotent-anger
his silence bought decades ago.. in another life
no price on his shock
and the bird on the branch flies off.. glint-eyes on another branch
it’s that time once again: she takes the old-cow to town
they await her before nightfall
she never does return
3.
I’m begging you
leave it be, this is how it is
go pick up the baby, please
(the baby won’t stop crying)
*your fences, I’ll rip up your fences with your very own whip
while them wolves howl on and on
I got oppressive-time to suffer your unmatched-law in the crush-of-daylight
now, kindly.. get outta my face!*
S T – 22 Jan 2014
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
. people are always left curious about the stories of homeless people... within the regards of why they became homeless... you want to hear my story? i sat down with one homeless person... you know what he told me? you want to know? he said: MY MOTHER TOLD ME TO NEVER TELL A LIE... wow... wow... so it became my ambition to never tell a lie... i became homeless because my mother advised me to never tell a lie... guess telling lies pays off... whatever it pays with or for... i became homeless because my mother told me to never tell lie! wow! so much for poetry being written while sober... what is expected? unruly truths, falsifications, this that and the other... hell... i'm a drunk... chances of me involved in a relationship are the basic focus of: SLIM... but? HEDNINGARNA - VARGTIMMEN... Finnish folk music.
***** does my head in,
minus the thought-and-question:
do i have a head?
dunno....
whenever the moon rises...
i get a tease of the giggles...
ha ha...
and my face contorts into
a posit of one if those faces from
an apex twin video...
funny as any royal ****
turned into ****
flushed..
now i want you to remember:
never meddle with a madman...
he's been prescribed his
medication,
he's been diagnosed...
come near me and a cancer
sufferer...
dox me!
dox me!
dox me!
i, dare, you!
but i know the person,
or rather, the type...
i won't be doxed,
because what i'm proposing
will not be matched
in execution....
****** parodies
of testicular cancer!
that quote for Albert from
the dark knight:
i am....
some people just like to watch
the world, burn...
i am...
dies, ich bin:
this, i am!
at least i have more constancy to
make comparison of
the Hebrew gott...
ich bin das ich bin...
my alternative?
dies, ich bin!
now...
i am: now!
and when i drink and turn
into a *******
it's to salvage some fathom
or what remains to be
justified as:
resolve.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 8:12 PM UTC
The love bite to his neck
reeks of the betrayal
woven into his blood
like a caffeinated web.
He contorts in the aftermath
of cannibalistic copulation,
the last of his eight legs twitch
in a silky spasm before he stills,
dead and defeated
by the mother of his
newly conceived children
cradled in my warm womb.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:42 AM UTC
The room goes dark
Its time to play
Bewildered look on
Her face
Glowing by the sheen
From candles lit
Let the games begin
A dark voice says
Sweat builds on her brow
Like a tear drop
No sadness here
She awaits in anticipation
Her body is tense
Ropes, whips and chains
Hanging on the walls
Will we be used today
Takes hold of the ropes
Ties her to four posts
Attached to a bed
Dressed in silk clothes
So soft where she lies
He covers her eyes
Field of view obstructed
Heightened senses
Like a cave underwater
No life expected
Her ears come to life
Tingling with slow breathes
From his
cold mouth
Frozen lips
Icy tongue
She gasps for air
Her body bare
First time playing
He isn't easy
On her
A big smile forms
No serenity
Pleasure is torture
She wants more
Craves deep within
No whips
No chains
Nothing more than
Hot and Cold hands
His Toy
Moving across her body
Up and Down
Exploring her map
Over the hills
Through the valleys
From chest to navel
Mouth to Mouth
She licks her lips
In slow motions
Like a fan
oscillating
He tastes so good
So much emotion
The smell of leather
In the air
Takes a deep breathe as
He rubs the ice
Down the Hills
Is it too hot?
Is it too cold?
Her brain can't function
What is this?
is it Pleasure?
Is it pain?
She wants to learn
His tender touch
Is it love?
Is it hate?
Is it passion?
Confused reaction
Please stop!
No, keep going
What to do?
What to say?
She says nothing
She has escaped
Into the confines of
Her mind distressed
Obsessed
She is fully obliged
To Him
Mouth to lips
Passion fruit
Cant move
She comes undone
Her body contorts
Hair stands
Like trees in the forest
Goosebumps
What has happened?
She'll never tell
Forever changed
Her body fell
Into his arms
Her Dark Tormentor
JM 10/4/16
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 10:56 AM UTC
hammer me
hammer me
hammer me to the ground
hammer me
hammer me
with your hard hitting pound
hammer me
hammer me
hammer till I cry
hammer me
hammer me
blacken both my eyes
hammer me
hammer me
break my jaw with your clenched fists
hammer me
hammer me
so my face contorts and twists
hammer me
hammer me
I so enjoy the bruising pain you dole out
hammer me
hammer me
with your forceful clout
hammer me
hammer me
so that I bleed most profuse
hammer me
hammer me
keep imparting your gross abuse
hammer me
hammer me
hammer me
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
I want to know what people see,
I'll never see myself clearly.
My brain changes and contorts my body,
I'll
**** in my stomach till I can't breathe,
Nothing but high waisted skinny jeans,
No tight shirts, dresses, or bikinis.
I'm
too wide in the waist
too broad in the shoulders
too chubby in the fingers
too full in the cheeks
And
I'll never see what people see
I'll never see what makes me, me.
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 9:22 PM UTC
There's an energy in me dying to get out
Stretching aching
Pulling and prodding
my skin in all different directions
Scratching clawing
Ripping and tearing
it's way out
Trying to find a balance to ease itself
My fingers twitch and roll
My shoulder blades shudder in ache
My head knocks
My knees tremble
My feet stomp
My face contorts
Curling my lips into a grimace
Rolling my eyes into darkness
Nose twitches like a **** addict
Trying to find a balance to ease itself
My voice gets hung up
Caught up on words I can't say
Or words I've just heard
Rolling around on the tip of my tongue
Like glass cutting its words into the back of my teeth
There's an energy in me dying to get out
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 8:09 AM UTC
He is my least favorite vegetable.
No amount or level of preparation makes him taste better:
Boiling-
brings out his bulbous, insipid ego
the texture of his flamboyant ignorance.
when I timorously sip him in soups or broths,
his oozing insidious misogyny
contaminates my blissful dining, contorts any ingredients still pure.
I fry him, striving to remove the
excess of impertinence which
permeates the oxygen I feebly inhale.
but he evades my maneuvers:
usurps bliss and violates all semblance of tranquility
I cannot prevail
against the throb of his assaulting narcissism
I must instead attempt
to comment
(arduously, fraudulently)
on the delicate iridescence of his silkily mucoused membranes
and admire deftly
his indefatigable ventures to pervade my
every.
serenity.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
Sometimes
I scream
and the neighbors
don't do anything.
Sometimes
I shut my eyes
and scream
and the neighbors
don't call the cops.
Sometimes
my body stops functioning properly
and it twists and contorts
and it brings pain
to my muscles
and I scream
but the neighbors don't do anything.
Sometimes
I warn mother
that I will **** her
and I don't want to
but one day I might do it
one day
when I shut my eyes
and scream
I'll hurt her
and my body will tense up
my muscles will hurt
and I'll cry
and the neighbors
won't do anything about it.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC
When waterfalls of tears
suddenly appear on woken eyelids
it's no use to try and hide it
the small floods that exist behind your eyes
have been denied their rights
and sat in silence
for too long!
Let them take a leap of faith
they have the strength
they're strong enough to wrestle with your fears
and steer you back up this steep bluff
towards enlightenment
away from spite for your inherent fear of heights
and the worlds unbearable weight
I'm afraid my dear you'll have to cry again
until you're light enough
to stand and fight
against the wind
it's strongest before the summit
it demands your soul as tribute
so you might be it's empty puppet
tied to a pole just far enough to see the summit
but not touch it
You remain stoic
don't weep but stand your ground
even if if those who dwell below
are begging
no
pleading
bargaining
self inflicting sadness
so you might shed a tear
on their rural tear drought ridden town
Yet you remain stoic
humble
like the gods
No! Stronger!
even the gods tears rain down
to sink the sunny days into rain and hail and fog
If you'd just cry
and let the pain out from underneath your iris
instead of seeing all the pain
inviting it in!
to rip apart your gentle eyelids!
You'd be free!
you'd weigh nothing!
you could see all you've been missing!
and even if your face contorts while unleashing storms of insanity
the rain must be torrential to nourish our humanity
and every hurricane turned to dew on the grass eventually
so i don't know what you think
but i would gladly show my sadness
to see the dew at last
with clarity.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
A shimmer in your eye.
A glance at your face.
Sets my heart apace.
The sounds around me turn into echos of each syllable that comes out of your mouth.
Your lips become my focus.
As it moves my mind traces out each perfectly formed line imprinting them in my memory so that I can dream tonight.
I become a photographer behind a lens.
Waiting, watching as each word is pronounced how it contorts your face.
Waiting, watching for the moment my finger can click the button that will set start to the explosion of light as morning dawns and your face is illuminated catching the perfect timing in a matter of seconds hen your guard has been let down and your heart is revealed bringing to life the well shelter untamed emotion of my meaning to you.
The the shutter closes and once again the wall is up leaving the mind to wonder if the eyes have played tricks on it again.
But the acceleration in the heart beat ask the mind question itself again, if only it can find the right box with the right photo of that millisecond when the heart felt as though it had been struck by an arrow causing the stomache to knot.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
An effusive elaborate scheme the colors advance to bright spellbinding allure then they achieve
Depth of quality by cutting back to softer hues and then the natural dark green is the bold
Touch that succeeds with total symmetry showcased in a view perfected by glass the prism
Most fitting not only to see but to be captivated by perfected expression it is a metaphor for life
The master designer chooses his subjects well one infuses another then by degree others
Foreshadow and glorify it blends tangible and intangible into intelligent coherent order tasteful
And sublime the hint and the elusive wonder all is needed is the wind to bow and ****** it into
A profusion a veritable concert that stirs with appeal life is in motion the players advance and
Retreat each speaking lines unique to themselves what sensations speak tendrils on a garden
Trellis held and fixed a gesture that plays and portrays intricate details the mystery that plays so
Well the stealing of morning frost then the blaze and then restful dying rays that spell comfort
The field rolls and contorts this brandishes excitement exuberance veers and plunders life
Become exploration trails hidden thickets hide and hold expression that is pent up ready to
Explode what vesture we wear it grips our friend’s astonishment is read on their faces but it is
Like a house of many mirrors because their lives are having the same effect on you some days
Are uneventful others are storm tossed with grandness the riches of an all contained realm
Spasms convulse like waves of the sea we stand forth to puzzle and dream what does it all
Mean the sanctity reveals plumes that are invisible that are far reaching and they have given us
This course of endurance that belies longing we grow soft and an inner glowing surpasses the
Stringent the misfit that moans against conforming we are treasure that exceeds all expectation
Life is rich we are its brightest colors and light night is for brooding the day is for shinning and
Divulging the secrets found in the brooding time we accost others we signify to them not only
Our own worth but there’s also fetching is the spray that magnifies the sky we are the bursting
We are the aliveness that is found each day in our lives that is the dooryard of discovery
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
*An acrobat of love is she,
who contorts, sensing
which way he loves to move,
constantly making spirited coos.*
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
swoosh and swirl i sway
the air convulses and contorts
pouring my limbs from one movement to the next
driving one mad with the slow moving power of the
strings
blow bubbles made of sand
and spill them upon the earth
with a sweet blowing breeze
similar to the chickens upon the ground
made of gold they eat gold
kernels
i am an axis of movement
a slowly rotating turnstile sparkling
in orange light drowning
time out of the hourglass
with the twitch of the inconsiderate wrist
bright red and gold the kernels fall into sifting
sand
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 7:04 PM UTC
I am under the sun’s dust-specked rays
With the low mumbles of a nearby river flowing into my ears
My brain bathes in it’s cool water
The pitter-patter of energetic drips hopping in and out of their prism
Becomes the only sound that occupies my head
Leaves,
Brown
Gold
Holey
Deep
Crunch crunch crunching
Dirt like magnetic attraction clasp to
My boots
My pants
My hair
The sky
Empty
Unoccupied by nothing but the birds that fly in it
Deep breaths of wind proud and tenacious caress my eager face
And it gets dark and the sky swirls and contorts
Screaming out it’s agony and frustration
Over another dying day
It assaults my eyes with it’s canvas
Melted oranges, cascading reds, opaque violets
Illuminating all it looks over
With the glow of it’s ferocity
The scent of pine needles and bark seep into my weary lungs
And I am invigorated with a burst of life
I’ll laugh and let the cold air cap my teeth
And grab my naked eyes
And shake me and shake me and shake me until
I can’t take it
And I cry from it’s frozen clutch
And I laugh and my face is as red as the burnt burgundy leaves that cushion the bottom of my boots
And all
I can hear
Are the echos
Of my solitude
And the toads
Croaking
And
My skin
Warms
And my
Heartbeats
And
My brain
Is silenced
And my eyes close
When I open them I see nothing but my ceiling
And I look forward and my TV is staring at me
With the look of nefariousness it always has
Frantic, desperate, delirious
I grab at my skin
And I
Am
Cold
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 11:07 AM UTC
now the word is naked
perched on stone naked
the door is naked
the oncoming figure naked
stored in space naked
meant to contain the naked
I try to pry open your silence naked
and caught within the last magnitude of a noise so naked
conceived an outlier naked
with an exact measurement that is distant from a scene so fair and naked
once again uttered when ripe a meaning naked
with the body of an hourglass naked
whose residence is naked
and an impedance of a futurity made naked
by a lit indigo sky naked there are no skies naked
only clothed by a closed sheen when provoked turns naked
you are naked
in this performance from beginning, midway, and then finality naked
in a cavity meant for one as a womb you once were in naked
in your fetal, your styled font obscured how the body contorts naked
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 2:44 AM UTC
A constant stream of justifiable lies. Contorts what I want from my life.
What used to seem impossible is now my reality
but I'm not so sure I want it anymore
because it is different
so different than what I thought it would be
Is it worth the games I'm forced to play in order to dream?
Today is hard but tomorrow will be worse because I will wake up to hate
reflected back at myself
There are so many things I should do. There are so many things I should want.
Do we not define our own success? Each to their own version of happiness?
But all I keep thinking is
I shouldn't be eating
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
A grunt-fueled thrust--the initial plunge--
Sinks the length in to the hilt.
A startled cry.
A breathy groan.
And not a single ounce of guilt.
A pleasured quake travels up my spine,
As I sink it in again.
She twists and writhes;
Contorts and sighs.
This is my moment of Zen.
She whimpers now! She's almost there!
And the wetness begins to pool.
I touch my lips onto her own,
Then wipe away the drool.
Her eyes go crossed; a drawn-out sigh,
And she lets out her final breath.
My ****** strikes as I withdraw the knife;
Drinking in ******** death.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
50:53
Strobe
when revealing a smile variegated
your polychrome
soul within sight
does not know where to go but to pine away
from the single light to touch
the innards of your button-down
making intimate the body contorts dancing with another
a minute past a gyratory
if belief is a grave: let stasis be metamorphosis.
this rained-on house will not give way any minute
else there is the wreckage springing from a singular
hiding behind the music ballasting ground
and from a convinced consequence of being
became fracture as if salacious to withdraw nothing but noise
from the quiet or vice versa. If when breaths were postponed, inert – they will
start estimates from outside
the neon sign that says Pulse and reimagine the lives when divorced
from the daily, and is then summarized
in a fusillade. When on the ground
they must have been dreaming of wings, or falling asleep
constantly with a warm body stranger tomorrow in that evening
a contingent
this place they have not reached yet against their head
said it was the most sincere of blankness at any given rate,
when movements statistical, numbered, unwarranted like a metaphor
or a glib downpour – the aftermath
becomes sleep so tender with a dream which resonates
They must have been dreaming of wings but by the time when someone
waiting for them
inside homes, they have already flown into days.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 10:23 AM UTC