"etcetera" poems
My essay, Changency, is a meme
This meme has been growing inside of me
I've been a carrier
Many of us have been
I'm not a benevolent character though
I've been purposely placing the memetic material on blankets
And leaving the blankets in local trading posts
I call these 'trading posts' bookstores, universities, colleges, schools...coffee shops, pubs, restaurants, etcetera
The beautiful thing is that these memes aren't really on blankets
The memes are encoded on the backs of knowledge, truth, and authenticity
They come from a place of pain
Evolution can be painful (but does it have to be?)
Three dimensions are easy to comprehend
Four, sure just add time
What about spacetime?
And a fifth dimension...I don't really know what that means...but some do and they're watching, listening, waiting, and loving us
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
You ask me
If I've considered suicide
Like I'm actually going to answer
Honestly
I mean,
What would I say?
Yeah that's all I think about
Please,
Put me on piles of medicine
So I can be crazy
As well as sad
But let me tell you
I most definitely
Have considered it
I've got the perfect tree picked out
It's got the perfect branch
For hanging yourself
There's a rope already attached
Or if you prefer,
It's easy to climb
You could always just jump
These are two options
But wait,
I've got more
There's a lake out back
It smells bad
But you could definitely still drown
Or better still,
There's a great knife in the kitchen
Really thin blade
But it's super sharp
For minimum pain
And maximum blood
Yet still,
There's more
I've got duct tape in the basement
You could make yourself suffocate
Of course,
You could use your pillow for that
There are the long ways
You could starve yourself
Sleep deprivation
Dehydration
Etcetera
So Mr.
"Psychological Doctor,"
I don't know...
Would you say I've thought about suicide?
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
We are absurd
You and I
Fragments
We have created a fermentative reality,
Where words are symbols of relation
That you and I falsify
And Bingo was his name-o!
Ah!
Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon
What do you mean?
And how shall we bargain?
And mora is but a half step to a whole
Eek gad!
January Febuary March and April
May I introduce you to June and July
August, Sept Oct Nov Dec
Randomly systemized organs organized
Abstract or… dissonant?
But who is in charge?
12345
12345678
12345
12345678
12344
12344556
12344
12344556
“Why so serious?” said The Riddler
Mellow dramatic
Melodrama
Melancholy
Pantomimes!
Pantomimes EVERYWHERE!
They are able to speak
But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?”
Together we fall!
United I stand.
Backwards
Upside down
Inside out
And grammar
What’s in a name?
Please don’t be lame
Sarcastic and the glamour
Synonymous nonsense
Homophones and nyms
Where are the polysemes?
In the antonyms
In the antonyms!
Repitition
Exclamation
Annunciation
tions…
verbage verbage verbage
syllables and such
meaningless meaning
defining definitions with such
True or False?
Hide and Seek
Ring around the rosy
We all fall down…
We all fall down.
Black hat, white shoes, and I’m red all over.
Salt
Sour
And bitter
And dill
And
And
And
And
And
And
Ampersand
Institutionalized poetry
But I am for rhythmic prose!
No, not you
Listen to the hue
that the colors protrude
red green blue
red green blue
Black is not a color
Chrome is my favorite
I will not believe otherwise
You are an alien.
I have divided by zero
Musical dissonance
*(asterisk)
A beautiful disaster
A shadow without its owner
Wild natured wilderness
And naturally a wildcard.
**** **** **** **** ****
Etcetera.
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 7:08 AM UTC
We are absurd
You and I
Fragments
We have created a figmentative reality,
where words are symbols of relation
that you and I falsify
And Bingo was his name-o!
Ah!
Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon
What do you mean?
and how shall we bargain?
And mora is but a half step to a whole
Eek gad!
January Febuary March and April
May I introduce you to June and July
August 28th
Sept Oct Nov Dec
Randomly systemized organs organized
Abstract or… dissonant?
But who is in charge?
12345
12345678
12345
12345678
12344
12344556
12344
12344556
“Why so serious?” said The Riddler
Mellow dramatic
Melodrama
Melancholy
Pantomimes!
Pantomimes EVERYWHERE!
They are able to speak
But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?”
Together we fall!
United I stand.
Backwards
Upside down
Inside out
And grammar
What’s in a name?
Please don’t be lame
Sarcastic and the glamour
Synonymous nonsense
Homophones and nyms
Where are the polysemes?
In the antonyms
In the antonyms!
Repetition
Exclamation
Annunciation
tions…
verbage verbage verbage
syllables and such
meaningless meaning
defining definitions with such
True or False?
Hide and Seek
Ring around the rosy
We all fall down…
We all fall down.
Salt
Sour
And bitter
And dill
And
And
And
And
And
And
Ampersand
Institutionalized poetry
But I am for rhythmic prose!
No, not you
Listen to the hue
that the colors protrude
red green blue
red green blue
Black is not a color
Chrome is my favorite
I will not believe otherwise
You are an alien.
I have divided by zero
Musical dissonance
Asterisk*
A beautiful disaster
A shadow without its owner
Wild natured wilderness
And naturally a wildcard.
**** **** **** **** ****
Etcetera.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
I like slandering your makeshift forceps.
I hammer you down with watery *** and then spill
the remainder on the couch. Yarg! A diamond’s
worth at least a small intestine, and you
are worth whatever’s left over after night
has upended itself, poured sideways out of its
shellacked crawlspace, and turned the basement sour.
There are remnants of you in the park,
some red stain by the baseball field where,
if you’ll remember, you watched little leaguers
build teamwork, and faint splotches on tree bark
from your lactations which, if you’ll remember, happened
every morning. I whisper your godforsaken name
and am slapped in the head. The children cry
when I smile. I cry when the children smile. Good
heavens. I forbid you from not entering my corridor,
even as I set up a barricade. I like my water scalding,
my passion chilled, and I like you in easy-to-
swallow doses. I like you in my eggs.
Ditto the faucet, keyboard, the occasional lily,
but do not mess with my pearls. I mumble of apodictic
meadows while I sleep. What can I say?
I do not mumble of unclogging your bathtub,
which has a certain foul repute, and has grown
heavy and ugly with your hair, which is everywhere,
just as you are everywhere, and wherever, and so
********* hidden it’s not funny anymore, we stopped
looking some millennia ago, after scouring the drainpipes,
kicking down your doors, dissecting your mattress,
speculating about your burial site, etcetera, and even so
we have not been really looking all this time, have we,
just blaring your name through the speakers,
putting wrong numbers on our calling cards, leaving
uncooked meat out on the back porch as if you were
a raccoon, oh, or a lion, which you are not, or not
quite, though, as the books say, you have honey
in your stomach, and if you could but be
ripped open we would taste and see.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 8:21 PM UTC
you acknowledge a concept
no matter how you do
and when you grasp onto it so easily
you now know it is time
to critique the painting
to write the song
to film the scene
etcetera
in order to express to one another
means to lose what you knew
at one point you played around
to only discover all harmony
but to only tear off a piece
and feed that alone to the others
once it was mastered
was as if everything else was forgotten
buried back into the depth's of your heart
to never be found again
unknown beauty
infamous tragedy
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
chemical cocktail—
serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin, etcetera.
i'd write you a poem but i'd rather
spend my time in bed drinking
this chemical cocktail
with you.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
O woe, woe,
People are born and die,
We also shall be dead pretty soon
Therefore let us act as if we were
dead already.
The bird sits on the hawthorn tree
But he dies also, presently.
Some lads get hung, and some get shot.
Woeful is this human lot.
Woe! woe, etcetera . . . .
London is a woeful place,
Shropshire is much pleasanter.
Then let us smile a little space
Upon fond nature’s morbid grace.
Oh, Woe, woe, woe, etcetera . . . .
2.7k
aunt lucy during the recent
war could and what
is more did tell you just
what everybody was fighting
for,
my sister
isabel created hundreds
(and
hundreds)of socks not to
mention shirts fleaproof earwarmers
etcetera wristers etcetera, my
mother hoped that
i would die etcetera
bravely of course my father used
to become hoarse talking about how it was
a privilege and if only he
could meanwhile my
self etcetera lay quietly
in the deep mud et
cetera
(dreaming,
et
cetera, of
Your smile
eyes knees and of your Etcetera)
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
There is no whiskey in his room tonight...
Instead,
There is a half-empty glass of-
Rock shandy, Pepsi-cola, Dr.Pepper,
Or something black.
Something minuscule,
even though he has not sipped from it.
He has not looked at it- his tongue
Was only dry for two minutes before he
Locked the door.
For the only presence that made it hard for him to swallow
Was in the form of something that he was still trying to release...
at 2AM.
Release at 2AM.
There is a typewriter in front of him and he is feeling as permeable as
The glass that is sitting next to it.
'as permeable if it had a closed lid made up out of carbon' he thinks.
'Closed lid', 'Carbon',
'Closed lid'
He does not know what to type.
As distance diminished it's existence throughout the years,
He began to realize that Letters were starting to transform themselves
Into Diary-Entries and vice-versa.
The art of belittling seclusion through the method of fictionalizing himself
Was turning more into a hobby than an art and
he did not know what to do except to accept it as a tragedy
That nobody else needed to know about.
"Tragedy:" he types.
"I don't know how to forget about you."
'And etcetera,' he thinks.
In his minds eye he sees a girl in a school far away.
She's holding a camera and a textbook and a picture of a boy
That isn't him.
She's walking into her new life and one day she will go a week without
Thinking about how it feels to know interest and feel it shared
from someone who thought it never existed.
One day she will go a week without thinking about the boy who stared at empty pages
And wrote letters about bitter meals that his tongue thought could never be tasted.
One day she will go a week with just the thought of how glamorous a life spent alone is...
Before she meets someone there...
Who will make her taste something that is less bitter than him himself.
'I hope that's where my story ends.' He thinks.
And then imagines himself embedded into
Dark bitter things.
(Tobacco, caffeine, dark chocolate.)
He sighs and stares at the words he has already typed.
He can imagine these bitter things spilling into his glass and changing its taste with each
little drop.
"You were dead to me before you even walked out of the door..." He decides,
And puts it onto the paper.
He lifts the glass and takes a sip and then puts it back down again.
'One day she will go a week without thinking about me..." He thinks.
Release at 2AM.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
As soon as you make something seem terrible,
it becomes
slightly terrible.
Someone could be using that very something in a good way,
but as soon as someone comes up with a bad way it could be used,
that thing becomes tainted by thought.
Those people ignore the good in that thing,
and imagine a bad future with it,
creating a taboo that is almost inescapable.
Our thoughts create our future.
Give things a chance.
Think positive.
The future is in our hands.
It is also in the hands of bad people.
We must coexist and cease blame on things.
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 11:25 AM UTC
fallow lay in a field, neath soil well over-tilled,
the bones of explanations, excuses, and desperation,
a singular self-destructive but upward thrusted commandment,
compose a poem of revelation,
a poem of destiny and unknown destination
of thee, I write, ashen standing,
with the poker face of a lying son,
before the father confessor mirror,
stand with palms facing outward,
with perfect calm and utter fright
for every nominated error listed below,
when confronted,
hopeless the innocence,
easier now to admit,
with perfect clarity, your innermost
confabulatory familiar friends,
rise to the fire,
first and foremost
belabor not with supposed ratiocinations,
put aside, your ration of
conjured up-for-all, and-all-for-naught excuses,
the prosecutors charges, so thoroughly distinguished,
it disables, speech, vision, all reason extinguished
as the lips and fingers silent move,
the hopeless knowledge of a pardon of 99.9%,
untenable, ransacks,
for what passerby criminal thought
has not resided in your head,
the hearth of who you are?
you,
write of nature, love, celestial notions,
the Etcetera's of life, but to me,
leave the exposure of our uncompressed,
here revealed sinning,
for among those who
unashamedly acknowledge
the intertwining nature of
human failings, and for the balance,
uncap our divine imagery
you write at of those other
nuanced pleasures,
nature, love, celestial notions,
while the sinners wrestle with
the angelic demons of
confrontation and revelation
for your own sake and saving,
do not wrestle with me
for sinners love, welcome
company
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
when you only
see the world
through the prism
of an Instagram filter,
the spectrum's
overshadowed
by black and white
vignettes.
brick-by-brick
you build that wall
around yourself,
closed off to the plight
of every one else.
who needs borders
when you refuse to see
beyond the periphery
of your iPhone's screen?
refugees? border patrol?
endless war?
merely fragmentary
snapshots
in off-kilter
snapchats
casting grim light
on contemporary
outcasts, rebels
built to outlast
the vitriol leveled
at modern-day martyrs
by tyrants and overlords.
'cause when you neglect
to read the passages
of history, you scapegoat
the brave, can't see
the forest for the trees,
reduce the complex
to Manichean binaries
of Good vs. Evil,
Left vs. Right,
an infinite etcetera
of demagoguery.
noses glued
to illuminated screens,
ignoring the visionaries
for illusionary fantasies:
one-click—purchased
happiness, bread
and circus.
advertising
has us chasing
a feeling fleeting
as a riptide when we
ought to be rallying
on the front lines,
punching Nazis.
a black bloc
tossing bricks into
storefront windows.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 12:46 AM UTC
I'm not a great man,
But,
I've been here and there, and I've learned a lot.
Like how not to get shot,
And where to buy ***
I've bent every misdemeanor law,
Some would call me a libertarian,
I say democracy is a farce,
Keep your vote, and leave me out of it.
Most of what I know is useless idiosyncratic observation.
For instance,
I know how many days it takes to hide 73 pipes, and other miscellaneous paraphernalia.
My father was raised in the depression,
He refused to let us throw anything out,
And we had a chest of drawers, full of old junk.
Watches without bands, and any piece of scrap paper,
That had free space on it. Last years receipt, dry cleaning tickets, etcetera...
And,
Subsequently,
It rubbed off on me,
And I hate throwing anything out.
I don't buy new stuff, until the old stuff goes bust.
I had a 10 pound Toshiba satellite, for 8 years,
Until the plug jack came loose, and I fried the sucker.
So when my doctor told me I had to quit smoking...
Everything,
I had forty plus years of accumulated paraphernalia.
I gave a pipe, to friends who were interested,
But it wasn't enough.
I hear you saying it now,
"You irresponsible old lunatic!"
And you're right, but I look at it a little different.
You might call it promoting lawlessness,
I say a law that is obsolete should be repealed.
Walk down the street, you'll see the dime bags,
and blunt wrappers everywhere.
No need to promote something that will happen anyway.
Teens will smoke, so I hid a bunch near high schools.
Up at Rutgers, I hid one in ten different buildings,
A few outside of the police station, and the courthouse,
And one in the bushes of my snobby neighbor.
Any place I could think of, I hid a pipe.
Rebellion be ****** I did it because I felt good,
Like a simple **********
A stolen cherry, in the supermarket.
Sowhatsthepoint?
Crime isn't cool kiddies,
But, as long as you steer clear of felonious activity,
They won't send you to real **** ****** jail.
Even your grandma, probably jaywalks from time to time.
Oh if you stumble on one of my pipe hiding spots,
Don't touch it until your old enough.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 9:18 AM UTC
Extraordinary eggs eat elephants' empanadas
exact erasers enlist every eagle
earlobe extract exit each elf entrance
Evil envelopes e-mail England
Easy eccentrics etcetera etcetera
exiting end!
Apr 16, 2010
Apr 16, 2010 at 4:16 PM UTC
my eye lids are heavier
than canvas shopping bags
after a particular gratitious shop
(fret not, i bought your biscuits)
and my heart is full of jangly
indie twee pop with a stomping bassline
that makes me want to dance with
tears in my eyes at times,
happy ones,
the kind that makes old(er) people in
old or stereotypical things proclaim
'turn off that infernal racket'
'what is that god awful noise'
etcetera but less circuituously
look at me world, i'm happy
look at this ******* smile
look at it
look at my yellowed teeth and tell me that i'm not a woman
look at my hair and tell me that i wasn't born with it
look at my face and pretend you've never seen anything so confusing
wait the last one didn't work did it
let me try again
give me the key to the city and i'll give you the key to my heart
okay the last one was a lie but
you get or can hopefully at least begin to grasp the point,
I can recommend some secondary reading if you're interested in reading around the topic.
but yes, where was i?
ah yes,
i'm on the crest of a sugar high
and i think i can see my house from here
i can see the ruins and the new developments going up
and from up here, as always,
everything is pretty ******* beautiful
there's so little air
no wait
another lie, sorry,
there's empty space with nothing in it
not even gas particles
only me and my feelings and
so little room to move in this tiny car
but i'm safe and i'm well
and i'm strapped in tight
and i can see my house from here.
honestly, it's that one right there.
i can see myself at the window,
eating a bagel with margarine
and wondering how the hell
I ever got so high off the ground.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC
*If I had to write a suicide note,
right now,
what would it say?
I think it would go something like this:*
Dear (No, too cliche. I don't want to put the blame on someone by mentioning them here),
I'm tired. my eyelids are heavy and my toes are dragging below me. I want to run, run far far away as fast as I possibly can. But I won't. I hate running. So I'm going to stop now. Stop running from everything and hiding from everyone and burying my head in books that I don't even care about anymore. So here's what I have to say.
Don't make me a martyr. I was not bullied, except by myself. I'm not the victim of our school system or the government or some political agenda. And I'm no advocate for self-righteousness, either. I'm just a human who got too tired. Too tired from staying up all night studying, writing speeches, researching arguments and arguing with people; living in this day and age is exhausting and I simply couldn't keep up.
To the one who knew me best I say this: When you're flirting with Death (which I'm sure you are as I write this) you don't have to come visit me. I'm still not convinced that I'll be there to be visited, and think of how it would crush the Tree Gremlin to know you could see me and she couldn't. Plus I wouldn't know you. Who knows anyone in the land of the dead?
To Tree Gremlin: Marry your idiot.
To my family I have nothing to say; mine was a battle enacted beneath their noses, under their roof, in the tree behind their house.
To the debate team: Get over your petty **** and write some arguments. I spent the entire weekend writing and researching and collapsing twice from exhaustion and my team STILL lost. Get your **** together and stop ******* around.
42, the Game, sodium hexametaphosphate, elf king, are you an insect, sea turtles, etcetera etcetera you've heard it all before, good bye and good luck.
~Abby
*This is why I'm glad I'm not writing this today;
I really have nothing of value to say.*
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
The potential quarrel only,
And I say only, is the thought
That 'us' would not be us
After our kisses.
We will never be just one flame,
One firebird in the distance
Pecking at mimosas.
And there's just too much flaw
If we are perfect for each other.
I could be the day of our starts,
And you, the day that begins.
I don't know.
You tend to over-think,
And often, I think of you,
Etcetera,
Vice versa.
So one by one, we secretly seek
Each other's secret;
One by one, we hate
How we hated each other
Till other things remain
In other things.
And so we think of each other
Only,
And then we kiss.
And I say:
Let love be a kiss,
For when two people kiss, it never mattered
Who stoops or reaches more.
© 2010 J.S.P
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 2:48 AM UTC
And because love battles
not only in its burning agricultures
but also in the mouth of men and women,
I will finish off by taking the path away
to those who between my chest and your fragrance
want to interpose their obscure plant.
About me, nothing worse
they will tell you, my love,
than what I told you.
I lived in the prairies
before I got to know you
and I did not wait love but I was
laying in wait for and I jumped on the rose.
What more can they tell you?
I am neither good nor bad but a man,
and they will then associate the danger
of my life, which you know
and which with your passion you shared.
And good, this danger
is danger of love, of complete love
for all life,
for all lives,
and if this love brings us
the death and the prisons,
I am sure that your big eyes,
as when I kiss them,
will then close with pride,
into double pride, love,
with your pride and my pride.
But to my ears they will come before
to wear down the tour
of the sweet and hard love which binds us,
and they will say: “The one
you love,
is not a woman for you,
Why do you love her? I think
you could find one more beautiful,
more serious, more deep,
more other, you understand me, look how she’s light,
and what a head she has,
and look at how she dresses,
and etcetera and etcetera”.
And I in these lines say:
Like this I want you, love,
love, Like this I love you,
as you dress
and how your hair lifts up
and how your mouth smiles,
light as the water
of the spring upon the pure stones,
Like this I love you, beloved.
To bread I do not ask to teach me
but only not to lack during every day of life.
I don’t know anything about light, from where
it comes nor where it goes,
I only want the light to light up,
I do not ask to the night
explanations,
I wait for it and it envelops me,
And so you, bread and light
And shadow are.
You came to my life
with what you were bringing,
made
of light and bread and shadow I expected you,
and Like this I need you,
Like this I love you,
and to those who want to hear tomorrow
that which I will not tell them, let them read it here,
and let them back off today because it is early
for these arguments.
Tomorrow we will only give them
a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf
which will fall on the earth
like if it had been made by our lips
like a kiss which falls
from our invincible heights
to show the fire and the tenderness
of a true love.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
One day Frick when to the place to buy some stuff
While Frack stayed in the area to do some things
Frack tossed out some junk
He used the the whatchamacallit to clean the thingamajig
Pick up the odds and ends
And he scrubbed a doodad with the thingamabob
Frick purchesed some knickknacks and bric-a-brac
A few sundries
A couple of tchotkes and trinkets
Some whatnot
A gizmo
A gadget
And more miscellaneous paraphernalia
When Frick got home Frack asked "What'd you buy?"
Frick said " Oh, this and that" "What'd you do all day?"
Frack said "Just a hodgepodge of etcetera, etcetera"
-Tommy Johnson
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
Bite One
What are you doing?!
You know you're on a diet!
Don't eat that!
Bite Two
OH MY GOD.
That last bight could've just made another official pound
Bite Three
Don't think just eat!
Bite Four
Bites Five
Bite Six
Bite Seven
Etcetera.
Purge One
What am I doing?
Google said this is a mental disorder
Purge Two
Mental disorder or not you're still fat!
Do something about it.
Purge Three
The acid is burning my throat...
No more.
Purge Four
Keep going until it's all gone!
Purge Five
Am I ever going to be skinny?
You see,
They call me, "thick thighs, nice eyes."
I call me, "stretch marks bigger than a kind man's heart"
And...
I know that when I'm skinny this will all fade.
Because I know that, the girl across the room is laughing because of my fat face.
And I know that, that boy is saying that he'd never date me because my fat is a disgrace.
And for now...
I'm not thin enough
Not pretty enough
Not light enough
Not bright enough
But every time I purge I'm closer to being perfect enough
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 12:00 AM UTC
It's easy to write a poem.
It's hard, however, to write a piece of originality : something where you don't fear people are reading it thinking "Where have I seen this before?".
No clichés, no copying, no integrating bits of your work and bits of others, always give credit where credit is due. Etcetera.
But that's not really what poetry is about.
I guess, in my own words and understanding of it, it's just about expression and ideas and spilling words onto pages that you could never say aloud.
I guess it comes from the abyss within yourself.
Where, in your heart, letters swim in pools of emotions waiting to be saved and salvaged.
And in your mind, they are forming in an orderly line waiting to be made sense of.
Maybe none of this makes any sense.
Or maybe it does.
I once heard the expression : "Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everyone I've ever known."
And that's the **** truth.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
The temptress zigzags into the barracks
And makes off with the subservient uniform wearing rifleman's milk money
To buy a swimsuit for her ephemeral summer body
That will sag to the floor by the first few days of autumn
She hacks the submarine's sonar system
And lets the current take her to a cedar river bend
Where she sniffles while polishing her handgun
Reserved for all those who lag behind in the arid region
To release them from their contractual servitude
Causing a ripple effect
Of inconclusive prospects
Etcetera , etcetera
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC