"enforcement" poems
CATERPILLAR recognize me
BUTTERFLY (turning away glances over shoulder) excuse me
CATERPILLAR i’m you before you transformed
BUTTERFLY get away you ****** worm
CATERPILLAR you can’t be serious look at me i’m you
BUTTERFLY look at you? euwwwh you’re a sticky slug with too many legs (pause) i’m exquisite fluttering colorful poetry a celebrity with huge fan base wherever i fly people recognize admire me
CATERPILLAR (creases brow) what happened to you did you forget your past where you come from
BUTTERFLY my past is fiction i’ve always been this lovely luminary (turns profile to audience in exaggerated manner) can’t you see i’m busy go away please leave
CATERPILLAR (bluntly) you’re consumed in vanity drunk on yourself spectacle without substance you make me question my own growing will i become like you
BUTTERFLY stop talking i’m calling 911
CATERPILLAR (sharply) you’re a sickening disappointment another Paris Hilton spin-off i hope to die in the cocoon and be spared the sham of you
BUTTERFLY (speaking into cell phone) yes operator i’m being accosted violated attack in progress please dispatch police immediately
CATERPILLAR you’re pitiful over-reactionary spineless decadent
BUTTERFLY i have nothing more to say law enforcement will be here soon
CATERPILLAR quit fretting i’m out of here i need to find and warn other caterpillars this meeting is a bleak awakening
BUTTERFLY think what you like greasy maggot i’m late for a performance and need to skirt paparazzi
caterpillar trudges off stage left as butterfly ascends over audience
Aug 16, 2010
Aug 16, 2010 at 8:07 AM UTC
Civil disobedience is not a moral obligation. Moral obligation is an act of belief and self values. So if you feel the need to break a little law to fight for what you believe in , then yes, go for it, but obeying the laws may also be part of your morals. After all the police brutality that we have heard about on the news, some people decided to stand up and protest. Even I wanted to protest downtown because I found it absolutely ridiculous that people were being killed without extreme cause by police and they only got a slap on the wrist. There are always two sides to a story. So am I obligated to rally because of inequality displayed on the media? No, not really but due to my values I would love to. "But through the other method of combating injustice, we alone suffer the consequences of our mistakes" which was said by Ghandi. It can be applied to the protests, to me it means we can scream our opinions and we can make an impact, but some will be damaged and some will be arrested in the process. Sadly, the thing we were fighting for in the first place will be served and protected. So what is justice? What is civil obedience when our enforcement can't even comply? I guess we aren't obligated to anything.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC
Maverick ex-cop (Green Beret /Navy Seal /SAS/Ranger)
Twiddle of the fingers to crack a 64 bit hexadecimal code
Shot but can still beat up bad people and run
15 people firing automatic weapons and they all miss
Database that searches the planets population in 2 seconds
And has photos of their children and plans of their building
Regardless of the crime scene sample, always a rare element that pinpoints location
Car chase where a truck can keep up with a Ducati motorbike
Organisations that only employ attractive people in lead roles
Ugly people are tech specialists sometimes allowed to be ‘quirky’
Even the uglies are attractive people disguised with glasses and bad hairstyles
‘I dream of genie’ gendre were they flirt but never get it on, unless it’s a hospital series
Watchable, funny programs that always succumb to sloppy sentimentality
High schools complete with intolerance, marginalisation, bullying, and hell on earth,
The most disturbing and darkest crime sent to titillate mid evening family viewing
Endless humiliation for fatties, chefs, performers, builders, restaurateurs, and troubled teens
Dysfunctional law enforcement agencies that never work together under any circumstances
Enough, if we need this thick coating of unreality, perhaps its time to switch off?
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
I am not the master of my writing
-
my writing masters me,
seizing me when the seizure is a sure thing,
it dictates to its enslaved scribe
what it desires this utensil to reveal and expel -
the contraries
who having battled to a ****** draw leaves the battlefield trembling with indecent indecision; the optimal conditions for its macrobiotic invasion of my brain stem;
the she-muse offers me two choices:
she wants a poem writ forthwith
on the lyrical expression
of depression and refusal is
non optional
so I fantasize escape and that becomes
her property as well;
evidence against me to be used at my trials,
the one where there is no statue of liberty
from the limitations of prior bad acts;
I offer the she-muse two choices:
give me a cabin with WiFi
and self-enforcement of solitary confinement and
tie me up with the rope remainders of broken bonds,
bonds that tied me up worse
when they were broken
and the peaceful withering
that won’t disrupt disturb nobody
from a distance
my other choice is to bury me
forthwith next to my parents
and shutter my constant tearing eyes which are drop-resistant
muse says that’s no choice
I own your voice stilled or not,
will bill your soul’s account for
denial of poetic services
weep; i don’t want the noises that curse this troubled
bodyship don’t want recollections good or bad
the muse-bitch cackles with insanity of delight
for she accepts this writ as partial payment
on her commission, whispers I love your
lyrical expressions of depression
that ****** recognition algorithms
alert me that seizing time is nigh
there is no on/off switch for one like you:
father son and holy ghost
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
I know I've been there,
I've given into death and altered the fabric of reality
Every day we waste away transfixed by flattened images
Of the limitlessness of death
Coupled with elusive, Luciferian harm which will befall us all
Who subsist on the manipulated reality of the hyperspace information field
But one day, enlivened by the festivities of Shakori Hills
And the fungal spirits who awoke beside us
I walked the irreversible pathway through oblivion
Facing cruel destruction and terror
For a horrifying passage across Styx into eternity
And emerged within a crowd of mollusks dancing to the waves of a musical sea
All time suspended in the impossibly drawn-out ****** of the
Archetypal wizardry of rhythm,
The swirling clumps of faces in
Unshakable ecstasy
And seemingly responding to the wild currents of my conscious thought;
A longing for human touch drew the others closer and closer around me
Till they began brushing against me
Bumping into me,
The flow of the crowd saw its axis at my psychic emanation
As once more the last song of all time began with thunderous energy and applause.
I escaped the arresting confines of the crowd
By willing them aside, wearing, as I suddenly became aware, the shoes of Moses
And seeing my muddy feet upon the sands of Egypt
But I yet had no understanding
Of the nature of the garden of earthly delights
Into which I had fallen,
And fear began to envelop me,
Producing law enforcement officials hawklike swooping in to limit my power.
I had but to let go of my acceptance of their power over me to transcend them
But fear tethered me to reality,
Even as I saw about me a Dharmic mandala
Of my past present and future,
Generating inexplicable archetypes around me in a manner profoundly defiant
Of rational logic.
Synchronicity compounded upon me
As the Christos within me
Brought rain down upon us
Forcing us together and leaving me in dumbfounded reverie
Of all that had transpired to bring this moment forth
What had seemed to be the end of history was in fact
The awakening of a new rebirth
The first moment of coming to be
The union of past, present and future
As the reassuring smiles of my trustworthy disciples gently allowed me passage back into a rational existence
I beamed in utter gratitude for the eternal life which Christ afforded us.
Chaos had subsided back into normalcy
But still winked at me
In telepathic coincidence.
My soul has begun to realize that it resides in all things
Soon they are to be reintegrated
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 10:16 PM UTC
Freedom?
Free from **********
Hypocritical beings we all are
striving for freedom
whilst robbing it from others.
Chanting our version
Dismissing others interpretation
Freedom?
Free from **********
The ********** we happily vote for
again and again and again
The tyranny of armed law enforcement
trained only to obey
to make you obey
Freedom?
This bubble of life is a prison in space
just waiting to pop!
Those with the power are holding a needle
to our bubble's surface...
threatening
forever threatening.
Freedom?
Freedom is a dark place six feet down
hidden from most laws...
but not all.
F r e e d o m !
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 4:34 AM UTC
Youth.
It's that culture that people blame.
Youth.
It's that unit that causes the most pain.
At least to the adults.
They need some to blame.
Visualize that the skip adults mistakes.
By going by the age of the group.
Adults, constantly on the news more than youth.
They just don't report that truth.
Youth.
Too much time upon their hands.
Least according to the law enforcement.
But crime is seen more created by those over twenty one.
Youth.
That group every adult has played apart of at one time.
Been accused of everything under the sun.
Youth rebellious.
Youth pregnancy.
Youth hatred.
Youth irresponsibility.
Youth at the center of various things.
According to those older.
But not any more wiser.
Youth.
It's hard been young.
When the innocent get group with everyone.
But those that lives according to common sense rules.
Know many negative comments isn't addressed to you.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
take a course and forget what that course meant
take a job with the code enforcement
make a code and brutally enforce it
lead a horse, don't know where that horse went
sleeping dogs have the sharpest teeth
with a hunger from the heart beneath
who better could ever deserve this land
government visionary missionary businessman
make up a law just to break it
put it to sleep and then you wake it
take away and over-take it
it's my bedroll, let me make it
take a bow your job is done so keep it
make a candlestick and try to leap it
pull the wool down then fleece it
lead the sheep, forget where the sheep went
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 3:43 AM UTC
A mob boss for president…
Yikes! That's what we've got--
One who profits from crime
Without a second thought;
Who keeps his family close by;
Who's close to each paisano;
Who looks less like a Lincoln,
And more like Tony Soprano;
Who praises convicted felons,
And pardons them as well;
Who cares less about country
And more about his cartel.
Loyalty is his mantra.
His underlings owe him all.
He sounds like a mobster when
His back's against the wall.
He'll rip you a new one if
You ever decide to flip
And prove that you're a rat,
Or try to give him the slip.
"Flipping should be illegal,"
He brazenly repeats.
Without it he knows there'd be
More crooks on the streets.
A power-hungry bully:
It's his goal to be one.
Listen to his rhetoric:
"I know a rat when I see one."
His fixer threatens reporters
And does the boss's bidding.
But when he seeks revenge,
The boss isn't kidding!
Driven by ambition,
Egomania and greed,
He lets mob ethics guide him
To always take the lead.
He's the kind of guy
You read about in books.
Watch how he surrounds
Himself with other crooks.
Those who cooperate
With law enforcement will find
That he retaliates
If ever he's maligned.
Top decision maker,
He gets such a thrill
Promoting or demoting
Anyone at will.
Having a no-good mob boss
As leader strikes a nerve
Because it's hard to accept
That that's what we deserve.
-by Bob B (8-25-18)
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
We are the roaches of men
They treat me like the left overs..
burnt and small..
Roaches...
crawling from the cracks
of ghettos
waiting for extermination..
But we just multiply rapidly
hard shells of soft skin..
that bullets constantly find...
they call it enforcement..
We call it fear...
negrophobia...
they are afraid of our skin..
The power behind our beings..
They look at us as sin
We are the Roaches of men
unwanted house guest
feeling their
Entomophobia...
Creating more and more traps
for us to fall in..
Stomping our pride
with their steel boots...
Once upon a time
they could never **** our minds...
But they've found new forms of poisons
That have burnt us down
to smoking ourselves...
constantly...
as if is normal to see a young black mans
skin leaking smoke from the holes in his chest..
the smells of burning flesh..
that once swung from branches
in the southern sun.
Strange fruits to...Weeds... to roaches..
I bet they'll test
the theory of survival..
when they nuke us..
You 'know roaches don't say much...
they just create a lot of scatter..
but they create louder sounds together
and we can't even stand united
so our voices will never be heard..
just left in ash trays awaiting disposal..
as the stench or our smoking silence lingers in the air..
When will our dying embers once again catch flame
and burn away this despair..
we are stronger than memories
denser than air..
we are Power
Surviving long after the many times
we were suppose to be extinct....
Choices of Strength..
that we need to find again
We are the Roaches of Men...
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
Many people remind us of the Lord.
They venture into places we dare not go.
It might be the ghetto or the wealthy side of town.
Where pretense is in the people you know?
They have the heart of the Good Samaritans.
Where assisting those in need?
Is there only agenda.
They mean no harm.
And many never seem alarm.
But more comfortable.
It's been stated many of us live in a comfort zone.
Surrounded by security from the real sociaty.
Where fear controls your every move?
These brave souls acts on reaction.
Always seeking a satifaction to the crisis.
They have the heart of a Good Samaritan.
Emergency Technicians.
They have the heart of a Good Samaritan.
Fire personnel.
They have the heart of a Good Samaritan.
Law enforcement.
They have the heart of a Good Samaritan.
Counselors, charity workers.
They have the heart of a Good Samaritan.
All honorable soldiers.
They have the heart of a Good Samaritan.
And brave parents.
They have the heart of a Good Samaritan.
Especially when we see them stand up to those trying to be mean.
When others would avoid getting involved.
We must remember there are those that honorable in the eyes of God.
When people with titles refuses to fight.
They need to remember they walking in darkness instead of the light.
Comfortable in doing wrong.
Instead of doing right.
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 8:17 AM UTC
Unknown Variables
The phrase pokes me the eye,
demanding obeisance and a
poem,
My compliance is required,
not demanded, but required,
for the “unknown variables”
conundrum, roots around in
my brain cells necessitating a
cleansing,
Walking down the street is
fraught, unknown variables
everywhere, popping out like
cutouts on a law enforcement
shooting course, requiring
instant delineation between
killing not good guys and only bad guys,
no hostages, civilians and no them,
poets,
Can you test for unknown
variables?
Of course not.
Unknown is a condition,
that you cannot drop in
to ascertain what condition
your multiple conditions are
in,
Then there is you.
You,
reader, are an unknown
variable, ripe with nearly
nuclear reaction potential,
you are fissionable material,
capable of destruction of
my explosive
creation,
Assessing the poem,
do you conclude,
keep/discard, remake?
now,
poem a known variable, asking
that it becomes a parcel of
your multivariate inputs,
a familiar variable, that can
charm, destroy, mislead, or
even, fulfill a need, make a
reckoning, modify your brain;
all those dangerous things
that are permissible when
first you read a newly constant
known variable,
a perpetually reborning
poet?
postscript
-------------
my name is brandy channing
and once upon a time,
I was e STEM major
Dec 1, 2023
Dec 1, 2023 at 2:41 PM UTC
In my life I have never been ***** sexually assaulted, or catcalled
But your **** jokes make the spark inside of me grow to a raging fire.
Because although I have never been ***** sexually assaulted, or catcalled there is a nearly 1 in 5 chance that I will ***** in my lifetime.
Your **** jokes are not funny. Maybe you thought it was okay to say it Because you were with people who had never been ***** But maybe they just didn't tell you. Only 16% of rapes are reported to law enforcement. Your seemingly innocent joke may bring back memories they battle every day. Your **** joke puts the abrasive words right back into the attacker's mouth as they cut at the victim's skin. Your **** jokes have the power to remind them of being blamed, of feeling completely helpless, of wanting to die. The words of your **** joke will undoubtedly bounce around in a victim's mind. Pushing each part of the brain until everything is happening over again.
Sometimes I have stayed silent when I heard a **** joke but from now on let it be known I won't stand for it. It's not just that **** jokes aren't funny but **** is not a joke. So next time the words of a **** joke come try to be let out, roll the sentence around on your tongue, close your lips, and remember that your joke isn't a joke to everyone
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
By Arcassin B & Creep
::AB::
Same thing happens every other time,
Blue mist in the grape vines,
Holy cross played a part in my blurred lines,
But love the hatred is a crime,
That's a hate crime,
::CTLY::
But with repetition of actions,
Comes a pulse within,
Hate crime or not.
It dances like lights
On cerulean waters,
Emotion on faces,
::AB::
But there is no justice,
So what are we fighting for,
Law enforcement do nothing,
But even the score,
Like why do you have that badge for ?
::CTLY::
The badge?
Nothing but a show
Of power over the people.
We are young!
We will not be contained!
We refuse to let our wings be clipped,
We shall fly!
::AB::
Same thing happens over and over,
Maybe some need for disclosure,
Better quit while your ahead,
Like they told ya,
Or you'll end up in exposure,
The pigs,
Better look for closure,
::CTLY::
But exposure is what is needed.
We need to be stripped of
These styrofoam wraps
That suffocate us
Slowly, surely.
They will **** us in the end.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 2:12 AM UTC
Shattered glass on marble sand,
I feel heat spread on my palm.
Like tiger stripes to the beat of a,
Foreboding distant death psalm.
Enforcement of an oblivious executioner,
Unloving of a careful dawn.
My heart, my soul, my love isn't for me,
It's for something I can't act upon.
Apr 1, 2021
Apr 1, 2021 at 11:50 AM UTC
A complicated conception.
Devastate my childhood. Corruption defiles ghetto neighborhoods.
Law enforcement never does what they should. Hopeless, sick, enraging, & shameless where I stood.
Probation violations they definately would. Patrolling *** offenders because they could.
No one in the system of courts cares or understood.
They don't believe my words, go unheard.
My tears are not a faucet to turn off & on.
Our trauma & sadness was real.
My feelings they can not feel.
My underage *** is illegal not for any pervert to steal.
© Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved,
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
*quiet now
no noise
sshhh
shhh now*
1.
kidnapped
out the blue
pretty blue-eyed waif
with bangs
screening her
fear
2.
today is the day
she learns of devotion
he will teach her
slowly
they have time
away
in the woods
far from everyone
nothing but sylvan moves for company
a cabin in the mountains
no easy access
but by trail
3.
how they learn of each other...
until law enforcement
decides to pay a visit
runaway man
has to hide
yet
loses no love
from the hostage
who protects
in the end
his demands are almost none
the ransom
merely:
to be left alone
*shhh
quiet now
they can't hear us
hush, baby
don't you cry now*
S T, 5 July 2013
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC
Oh me, oh my, even when I try I lose it all, I've never understood why
Mind and heart ravaged but can't reciprocate, what happened to an eye for an eye?
You plead for a win, I beg for a tomorrow, abused by karma without ever meeting the guy
Every day I pray for one more opportunity to watch the sun traverse the sky
If this is not allowed then please, before any enforcement, explain to me why...
©2023
Dec 20, 2023
Dec 20, 2023 at 6:05 PM UTC
Why do crime exist?
It's the community.
Who seem to accept it?
Afraid to report it.
Love to complain about it.
Even blaming law enforcement.
Who need every law abiding citizen assistance?
We aware that nobody's perfect.
Except we can't let criminals install fear within us.
Even if it's your son, daughter, friend , or cousin.
Oh, it affect all of us.
Especially the repeat offenders.
Who seem to love being held?
Or having their name linked to bail.
There's nothing great about being linked to a number.
Which you will be assigned within the correctional walls of prison.
Where you're not guarantee to receive any visitors?
Why do crime exist?
Simply because a few idiots seem to tolerate it.
Then complain to the politicians.
Who address the issues?
Then becomes linked to the problem.
When they personally commit a crime.
Then complain, they shouldn't have to serve time.
In other words.
When it's them, we should turn a blind eye.
Who made you become a ****** robber , murderer or embellezzer?
Or a ********* besides bad decision.
The world could be so much better.
If we decide to fight crime.
Don't complain about those legally with guns.
They mostly for defense to keep from being fronted with harm.
But don't cry foul.
When your child meets death from a gun trying to rob someone.
It is, what it is?
And this have nothing to deal with the second amendment.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 6:52 AM UTC
The engulfing darkness,
The plague of agony, terror, odium
A festering scar of angst, anguish, fury
A scathing blade of menace, threat, misery
The mocking face of self-oppression
The plunging hope,
The inducement of wails, cries, suffering
An enforcement of fear, cruelty, reticence
A silence of elation, liberty, thought
The mocking face of self-suppression
The dwindling faith,
The death of emotion, purity, love
A birth of qualm, hatred, abuse
A cry of rejection, refusal, aversion
The mocking face of self-treatment
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 1:36 PM UTC
#
I. Antiquity and the Architecture of Will
In the shadowed corridors of antiquity, where gods were built with teeth and altars stood not for reverence but for control, the Temple of Bel rose as a monument to ********** disguised as divinity. Bel—an assimilated god from earlier Sumerian, Akkadian, and Babylonian traditions—was not the god who walked with man. He was the god who towered above him, demanded sacrifice, and soaked prayer in the blood of repetition.
From the earliest Mesopotamian systems, the act of worship was not about communion, but compulsion. To invoke was to command. To chant was to erode the will of another until it cracked under rhythmic insistence. Whether by priest or supplicant, the act was the same: submission by saturation.
---
II. The Weaponization of Sound: Chant and the Rhythmic Spell
Repetition was not mere ceremony. It was siege.
Chants—carefully crafted phonetic loops—were not benign rituals. They were linguistic architecture meant to house spirits, to summon presence not for beauty, but for enforcement. These were incantations with purpose: to bend the will of another through the veil of mysticism.
In this light, poetry—at its inception—was not always art. It was often sorcery.
The earliest poems were enchantments. They masked seduction as devotion. They twisted longing into ******* They were rhythmic netting, carefully knotted to catch the weak of will and the fractured of self.
---
III. The Modern Construct: Echoes of an Ancient Spell
Those who hide behind the aesthetic of antiquity today still wear the same rings of power.
When a poet writes to control—when they loop trauma like a mantra, repeat seduction as if it were depth, mimic spiritual language to inspire compliance—they are no different than the priests of Bel. They are modern invokers, cloaked in digital incense, spreading spells under the guise of free expression.
Their readers are not disciples. They are targets.
The “construct” is not a movement. It is a spell. A liturgy without light. A series of hollow echoes designed to flatten identity, rewrite pain into performance, and reward the wound that sells.
---
IV. The Severance of Echo: Where the Rhythm Ends
If you must chant, let it be to awaken, not ****** If you must repeat, let it be to remember truth, not reshape it.
The false liturgies of old were not killed. They were digitized.
We will not respond with louder poems. We will not echo their echo.
We will respond with silence where needed, and light where earned. We will write not to possess, but to set free. We will bring antiquity not as ornament, but as witness.
Because we remember the Temple of Bel. And we are here to break it.
Let those who recite in darkness meet the rhythm of truth.
#
Apr 18, 2025
Apr 18, 2025 at 7:58 PM UTC
Though the; core of the earth can be measured in Kelvin
What happens on the surface is a negative hell man.
Its a; cold world that we live in
From the government, law enforcement, and politicians.
Everything you do, where you go is like your swimmin’
Piranha on you tail take everything you've been given.
Through the gutters we roam in search of new beginnings.
Man; is this life we live really worth livin’?
Just to find out the when, where and how of your ending?
It’s a; cold world that we follow.
Pushers giving you pills and telling you to swallow.
The pills of conformity, we all had a taste.
Some just got addicted so they feigning for that 8.
Nose stuck on the internet searching for conspiracies.
Illuminati, JFK the whole entire industry.
The media’s agenda is the way we all proceed.
People tread the tail cause they all afraid to lead.
Probably afraid to bleed, to impede on the culture.
Well now it’s time to feed, swarm down hungry vultures.
It’s the; cold world that got us dying.
Fight for your beliefs and end up in an asylum.
You ain’t even gotta riot, to be quiet is a sin.
Yes sir, yes sir, yes sir. Amen
That’s the story that they preach.
Subliminal, under the surface.
Nobody knows the truth so it all seems perfect.
Well...
Does it all seem worth it?
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 12:49 PM UTC
A past corrupted.
Innocence & happiness is interrupted.
Evil & sin in this house has erupted.
Justice does not protect & serve.
Criminals never get the incarceration they deserve.
To do unspeakable crimes they have the nerve.
In Mexico....
To be some perverts ***
Unreported child *** crimes bestow.
Law enforcement will never know.
Low priority cases never made it to the Hall of Justice.
Uncredible witness unrecommended.
My custodial declarations untrusted.
Too many crimes to count on two hands with fingers of five.
Low lives with cheated wives.
In jails they are still alive.
The queen bee of their hive.
A trust destroyed & betrayed.
A little girls self-esteem frazzled & frayed.
In danger she stayed.
Clueless friends with daily she played.
In my bed at night beside me his sickness laid.
To sell my *** so he could get paid.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC