"flitters" poems
Chirp chirp
A sparrow hops and flitters
Jumps and flutters
From branch
To branch
To wire
Lining up with all her friends
Waiting for some skybus to take them away
Twitter and chortling about the world below
Silly humans in their lucid bubbles of
Space
Squirrels chattering and cussing from the trees
Thieving birdseeds and peaches
Meanwhile the sparrow bounces on the wire
Jittery and full of energy
Twitching and flicking her feathers and tail
Boune bounce hop
Fidget and jump on straw thin legs
And then whoosh
All leave at once
Their invisible skytrain pulling away as fast as it comes
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 11:21 AM UTC
On silver star a gleam
Reflecting purest love
And by crescent moon I dream
His love a radiant beam
Glowing warmth from above
On silver star a gleam
Love flitters so supreme
On the wings of a dove
And by crescent moon I dream
Love like a gentle stream
Meanders hand in glove
On silver star a gleam
Time and distance extreme
But ‘tis him I think of
And by crescent moon I dream
Enchanted it may seem
He is my one truelove
On silver star a gleam
And by crescent moon I dream
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 1:09 AM UTC
Inside your little mouth, a crucifix and a hula hoop plant great capers on the short hash marks on your glossy pinkish lips. Like a boardgame I can't win all by myself or a song without a tune, like the melody that chases strangers, or any words that precede goodbye.
The future is coming quickly now, serfs lining up to set fire to their nostrils, take the cue ball and whet their mass wicks for the apostles. Anecdotal anomaly that J-walk over crosswalks whose life then becomes an apostrophe. Morbid fixture on the substrate, creatures limitlessly nodding. A grape-sized egg fills its own unit and erupts to shape the outlet. Your verb-legs may appear demonstratively while you crowd surf, we should play the music louder while we practice all our dance work.
Sunday morning we wake up stiffly, my jowl hurts from mouthing softwords, the nights' adventurous perversity of thwarting dinosaurs with Cobra Starship. Even the back room closet manager gave us enough bleach to see our eyelids, frothy nictitating flitters drop freshly severed lashes that inspire wishes and sultry playlists.
Consecrated mien market of company meals. Underneath the cable cars the dye blunders sores in my eyes. Said I had to go, said I had to die. Said I had an itch but I couldn't get in front of all of this and unwind. Between all of the bees and buttered flies he made it hard for us all to survive, or service this state of our lives. I recall schoolyards where children paid to their dimes for us to see the spaces in the middle of lines, the circles on the circles we liked, stuck in bubble baths with crayon all on their hands. For the price of staying alive I deliver a bribe to sway eyes from the crimes of street dwelling inner-city sinners with stomach contents' upsetted by the rough ********* of heavy petting. She eats red licorice rope with with my fingers rubbing on her tongue. A pedagogy I use to teach, but pretty much no longer have a use.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
Of man be there two.
One holder of mirror whilst other a scryer,
renders mirror to glass pierces through.
Where one speaks the other is silenced,
mere whisper acknowledged in this interchanging feud.
So in this blurred intersection,
where there is no reflection
Then what man of man be the truth?
What man of man be the truth
as he stands here split in two?
Be it what he thinks or what he do
that makes the man?
This single man in double view.
A multi facet that will reveal itself in time due.
A facet only glimpsed in certain light,
gone unnoticed by friends.
One and the same in this game of life
where does one begin and one end,
when it is only in the battle that they raise their head?
See the chimera for what it truly is,
this lone Mr a Hydra instead.
Each flitters between life and the scythe
as they fight for control.
Each condemned to the darkness
as the other negotiates sole lease of this soul.
But Death haunts the two because the two
form the whole.
And so this dual begins
without rules and birthed in sin.
Begun with one who seeks to release his debase desires
that lie un-mired in mind,
confined to an imaginary state,
where he can ****** slander unheard
but then he plays with fate.
He plays with fate, when he opens the bottle,
hands himself to the primal,
unprimed for the battle that lay ahead.
That lay in head and heart and will;
one's will that will leave one dead.
But for now each has his role.
One takes the guise of a Jackal
in cunning he seeks to conceal the other,
his brother in hiding,
in sin he hides him inside him
but he will not be silenced.
The fiend longs for this angels confession
and will teach wings a lesson in flight
as he makes his escape in dark and in light.
So this would be angel tries in vain
to press the other down, so that he can remain
but he's wingless and in pain, feeling the strain of
restraints that will no longer contain
the hate that dominates as the other pushes free,
pushes to be this man's sole identity.
This poor soul thought he could enslave that which was caged
and to the beast he did open the door
but it was this angel that lost his wings
mauled by a beast that would not sing to his tune, just roar.
Each sacrificed for the other
as this man of man ends his days
cold on the floor.
For man can not negotiate with fate.
And when One cannot take rule
the pair will end their days together
in the dual.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
Her gaze flitters as she looks about the room.
All seems the same as it once was, she thinks.
Gliding across the shredded carpet,
Her attention is drawn to the winding stairwell.
Memories ravage her mind…
She is seven years old, sliding down
The smooth, freshly polished banister-
She had won the race.
Her little mind is ever so exultant.
Climbing the stairs again,
She never wants the game to end.
She blinks, taken aback by the strength of the flashback.
She knows it could have been far worse.
A heavy sigh escapes her nostrils.
She turns to leave the beaten, empty home,
But caught an unbearable urge to run up the stairs-
To the attic, to burry herself,
In the moth eaten remains of her past.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 1:42 PM UTC
I miss you and my skin shivers
The heaves of the flying engine
The sky of our heavens angel
Amiss and my soul webbed in a bay
As the mist of the dew condenses
The waters flows in our artistry
Our chemistry a fizzle unreactive
Our feeling dances as a spirit of its own
The miss and want to walk my finger
Rest it on your bare hairless chest
The miss to walk and pluck a hair
Resourcefully induce a prickly pain
I miss you and my tear flitters
On the trail of the cave I touch
****** the walls that hang your heart
I miss you as we shield our soul and shell
At the crossroads where the devil turns
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 4:20 PM UTC
Inside your little mouth, a crucifix and a hula hoop plant great capers on the short hash marks on your glossy pinkish lips. Like a boardgame I can't win all by myself or a song without a tune, like the melody that chases strangers, or any words that precede goodbye.
The future is coming quickly now, serfs lining up to set fire to their nostrils, take the cue ball and whet their mass wicks for the apostles. Anecdotal anomaly that J-walk over crosswalks whose life then becomes an apostrophe. Morbid fixture on the substrate, creatures limitlessly nodding. A grape-sized egg fills its own unit and erupts to shape the outlet. Your verb-legs may appear demonstratively while you crowd surf, we should play the music louder while we practice all our dance work.
Sunday morning we wake up stiffly, my jowl hurts from mouthing softwords, the nights' adventurous perversity of thwarting dinosaurs with Cobra Starship. Even the back room closet manager gave us enough bleach to see our eyelids, frothy nictitating flitters drop freshly severed lashes that inspire wishes and sultry playlists.
Consecrated mien market of company meals. Underneath the cable cars the dye blunders sores in my eyes. Said I had to go, said I had to die. Said I had an itch but I couldn't get in front of all of this and unwind. Between all of the bees and buttered flies he made it hard for us all to survive, or service this state of our lives. I recall schoolyards where children paid to their dimes for us to see the spaces in the middle of lines, the circles on the circles we liked, stuck in bubble baths with crayon all on their hands. For the price of staying alive I deliver a bribe to sway eyes from the crimes of street dwelling inner-city sinners with stomach contents' upsetted by the rough ********* of heavy petting. She eats red licorice rope with
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
Abandoned dusty in the attic
A shadow flitters around the edge
Caressing the smoky veil of glass,
Searching to remember his first waking moment,
When he had become but a phantom
Of a man-
but alas... it had been always.
Silently knocking on the wall
Which holds him from the other side-
You saunter by and blink
And shun the one moment you could have seen
And he is forgotten from the ones who never knew him
And the fabric
Runs like soot over his world.
His eyes see but the ghost of the substantial,
His world imaginary staring through a window of glass
From which shines an impossible prism
Cutting a path through the smoky din
The dream-dust settles, making it but a circle
Glowing in the light
That he could live in another’s eyes.
The mirror shatters.
Crushing glass slashing shards into the air
Shrieks erupt as the phantasm is
For the first time known,
The storm that had been hidden in that one-way mirror
Now unleashed, yet
You avert your eyes as if it was still a pane of glass.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 11:17 AM UTC
Moon Dragon,
Paragon of the Night,
It winks and glistens to me
As it floats and flitters in flight.
Tubular tumbles and barrel rolls, it fills the night sky;
Chanting ancient scrolls of the lost astral souls
And blinding those with awe as it dives on by,
Working the space like water.
Around and beyond it curls and twirls,
Around each star, distant and afar.
Wrapping round for a celestial sweep
Searching for the veins of stars that run so deep.
So aloft it may tumble and mate with the night sky;
But, ever so rare one may catch a sign with a human eye
Of the Paragon of the night, Moon Dragon, as it dissolves
Into invisible flight.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 12:23 PM UTC
I'm the fire of his afterthought,
the spark of guilt that lit his
soul on fire
that blazing innocence
around
his eyes
when he smiles
I stick tongue in his ear
in devilish voice
of seduction
whisper in heated
breath what I'm gonna
do to him,
one lick of heat
he flitters like a moth
to flame flickering in
and out breathing my
name; I got game, when
I make him holler in vain
he's tamed; sweet
as a kitten licking and
dipping in fiery pit,
as I allow him to suckle
a little *** having a fit,
mind bound in illusions
wrapping lips around
wanton conclusions
I leave him delusional as
I whip with lust; blowing
his mind just so, I can
control him as I allow him to
leave nibbling teeth marks
tonguing wetness
back to front upon
silkiness of skin,
delving into
softness of elusive
innocence;
still whispering words,
igniting fires of
desirable passion
as he's gasping for
breath between wet
thighs...yes I sighed
as each word and lick
fell between each
soft petal dripping
with his tenderest
touch caught as I
squeezed and teased,
the heat of his
passion blew flames
in and out of petalled
mouth, zapping any
thoughts of guilt;
sipping sweet nectar
seeking political
asylum as a defector
tasting his way south;
dribbling and mouthing
in hunger on bended
knee's to forever
please me as
he walked beside
me collared on leash;
in beggary silently
still ********** me
melting away each layer
with every lick of my
whip; he adored me
with his touch, as I,
his ebony skinned
Mistress whipped
his mind into
submission;
bending him
to my will
**** he
thrilled me
as I played
him like
a
fiddle,
he
dribbled
into
my
fiery
pit
in
which
he
was
well
equipped
so,
I
allowed
him
to
dip
with
his
flaming
hot
wick...LICKED
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 4:32 AM UTC
One cold breeze flitters by,
Awake, a shiver rolls down.
Seeping through the ground,
Coated in many aspirers lie.
Abrupt to awaken an eye,
Gazing the half clearer image.
Soon greeted in holy light,
Fixated, gasp a lonelier sigh.
A shadow sweeps by up high,
Quickly to restore the blind.
Bones barely intact inside,
Reaching up seeking a sign.
A shrivelled tongue I do try,
Forcing out the air for words.
Eyes swelled, an anxious look,
Patience left to care the tide.
The blue air reflecting from the water,
Soon I arise to realise where I’d laid.
The minute grains, digging deeper,
Penetrating through my rough skin.
A slight wash for the ends of my toes,
Clearing the dirt further up my feet.
Soon my whole legs were glistening,
Shining like the pearls deep beneath.
With my head levelled I start to recall,
Visions for which I felt most alone.
I search my pocket to reveal a clue,
That night I spent burning in waste.
Shaking in disbelief, falsely accused,
The bluntness of my saviour’s truth.
The sea I think to dispose this guilt,
An addict never deserves his mercy.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
...how fleeting is life
time flitters
like a bird in the sky
you sit
and watch it go by
then realise what that means
and fade
into the grey years
then slip off the Earth
like every person
eventually does
then you wake up
into the real world
yes, Earth was real
but now it is a dream of old
you begin your life
in the next chapters
of the eternal story of God...
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 7:25 AM UTC
Abandoned dusty in the attic
A shadow flitters around the edge
Caressing the smoky veil of glass,
Searching to remember his first waking moment,
When he had become but a phantom
Of a man-
But alas, it had been always.
Silently knocking on the wall
Which holds him from the other side-
You saunter by and blink
And shun the one moment you could have seen
And he is forgotten from the ones who never knew him
And the fabric
Runs like soot over his world.
His eyes see but the ghost of the substantial,
His world imaginary staring through a window of glass
From which shines an impossible prism
Cutting a path through the smoky din
The dream-dust settles, making it but a circle
Glowing in the light
That he could live in another’s eyes.
That longing glare barely lights a beam
In the dusty sandstorms
That swirl unknowing in the upstairs abyss.
A cobweb of days long forgotten
Spells out a lost map of parts none traveled
And bone-dead
The shadow glimpses your heart and shudders.
Lost skies of fallen stars none found
The petty grains sifted through
As if you never thought to look
For the moon-bright glimmered tear
In the featureless field of silver what you only saw
Was you
And the night sky could weep no longer.
*In between the hope
And the reality
Falls the shadow-*
The mirror shatters.
Crushing glass slashing shards into the air
Shrieks erupt as the phantasm is
For the first time known,
The storm that had been hidden in that one-way mirror
Now unleashed, yet
You avert your eyes as if it was still a pane of glass.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 10:11 PM UTC
I say to you,
Life flitters from the clasps of snoozy men
Who wish to feel comfort alone
And clings to they who feel in their bones
The slow decay to an inevitable end.
I tell you,
Those who invite the sweet drips of the heart
As well as its sour,
Live for days in the senseless man’s hour.
For though these heartfuls hold a burden
While fancying pleasure, free of strife,
They ask their hearts to pump them alive
Knowing full well the pangs of sorrow
May course in their veins by noon tomorrow.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 1:51 AM UTC
I shake
And I shiver
I'm cold and scared
When I feel your touch
So warm and soothing
My heart flitters
flutters
I wake
And see your eyes glistening
All is well once more
I'm in your arms again
Oct 26, 2010
Oct 26, 2010 at 6:27 PM UTC
every time i see you, i feel as if i can take on the whole world.
you make my insides burst with the flitters of butterflies
and you make my smile touch the edge of space and
my laugh bubbles in the entirety of the air
surrounding us.
because of you, i feel hope rise in my chest.
you're like a whole new universe that i get to explore.
my fingertips caress the blackholes and supernovas you possess
and your eyes are a new experience in themselves,
like wormholes ready to take you to a far-away galaxy
every single time you look into them.
your hands are foreigners to my body.
they know not were to start or to end,
but they still are.
they know what to do as if they were programmed to
feel the vibrations on the soft skin of my back and
the tenderness i have everywhere around.
you could give me a million new words
and i'd spend countless hours trying to decipher them
with this newfound knowledge that you have given me.
how much do you know in that beautiful mind of yours?
how many brain cells do you possess,
you beautiful, intangible being?
your words keep me strong,
they keep me alive.
my heart beats stronger because of you, too.
every single fiber of my being feels stronger and healthier
and more in love with every cell that i possess.
because of you, i feel more alive than i ever have.
your touch is still so soft even with your resilient hands.
your eyes are like the eighth wonder of the world.
they soften my heart with the dips i take into their deep blue
oceans and the sea-foam green splashing inside of them.
and your lips could speak a thousand incoherent words and
i'd still smile because they were coming from your beautiful mouth.
because of you, i am falling in love with myself.
i'm not sure that i've ever done that before.
but i know this feeling inside of my chest and
while i am infatuated with you,
i am falling in love with me.
and that's more than i could ever hope for.
so thank you, my dear, for being this unknown universe that i
get to explore and for being someone who can help me
fall in love with myself.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 8:54 PM UTC
A feral flutter
Light headed, heavy winged
A slightly singed stutter to follow
Bow your head into the faeries hollow
Tiny hands of guidance, till you’re dancing in the gold and blue
That fae has a face I know as you
You chirp from birch to birch
The echoes of your ivy crown
Your laugh is etched in every sound
In tree barks and wolf howls
Drunken singing night owls
In the shimmer of the mystical
Rainbows when the sun hits crystal
Late days and lightning
And we remember you shining
So many memories to make us swoon
Your face I see in every moon
A spirit embroidered with feathers
Snoozing sweetly in the heathers
Inked with sunshine and smothered in glitter
Beyond the stars your chariot flitters
Eyes of kindness and heart filled with love
I know your smile still sings above
These pixies they steal teeth and treasures
They’ll take you on celestial endeavours
Till somewhere soft and serene you’ll have landed
Somewhere you’ll dance with the winged bandits
Dec 19, 2020
Dec 19, 2020 at 3:33 PM UTC
-"Why do you breathe out?"
~"Because I breathe in."
-"Why do you breathe in?"
~"Because I breathe out."
-"How did this begin? I mean, how did it come about?"
~"I'm not exactly sure, though I swear I heard a shout."
-"Well, who was yelling to you?"
~"I don't know...but I cried."
-"And at your beginning, why cry, why not sing?"
~"Well because, my good friend, we start to die when we begin."
-"Pfffft, well if that's the way you see it then fine. We'll let it be-"
~"Oh no, dearest companion, you've asked the questions, the truth you will see. How truly there is no real Me or real You. How the mind has disguised what is one as something two. Two sides of the brain means two processors at work. I mean I should know I've been running them since birth. My experience cleaved so I may be able to comprehend something vague called reality? All that is real teases me, it flitters around my head and vanishes into nowhere, a land beyond Time, beyond the dead. And so that's what I mean between breathing and not. Because the space between breaths is where the Truth will be taught."
-"...well...okay...hmm, um, check please!"
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 11:34 PM UTC
languished dreams forecast great things
sometimes.
otherwise, just take your chances
on the clock
it will meter out your to do....
and done
with each tick, you've got
another chance for
gain, loss, greatness... triumphs or
sleepy do nothings
just know it is you
that turns the temperature up
or down
joy or sadness is birthed in the gray
then flitters away
**** in less than a heart beat
so be kind to yourself
others too... sometimes that's a trial
but you are the jury
and judge... and jailer
penance or gleaming, exhilaration
you pick it from
the vegetable mart of your soul
make sure they are firm... of good color
robust in flavor...
and all mixed up... then feast away...
for life is so grand.
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 2:59 PM UTC
I’d have liked to have heard
those tinkling bells
through the ether
while at the kitchen sink
behind me
from another room
As I have before
I wish that you would haunt me,
That I would see the motion of a darkened blur
out of the corner of my eye
Or hear your feet upon the hallway floor boards
I remember when as of late
I would pass by and you’d reach out
to stretch or say don’t go
I’d hold your hand and say
I’m coming right back
Now I look at my bed to find you
I touch the blankets and the other tumbled bedclothes
Here and Here
But you’re gone
Just sleek emptiness
I remember this well from before
Of standing in dark closets
breathing in and out
stale papers and linen over-crisp
the scent of solitude and
Memory
Of what never happened and never will.
Where are you?
I would cry how is there no trace left?
No butterfly a-lights or pennies appear on sidewalks that I roam
No hummingbird flitters before me to dash away
No breeze rustles through
the palm tree fronds
as if to say
hello, I am here always
You’re not in the bathroom or in a chair
I can’t hear you cry for me in the dark
Or touch my face at two a.m.
I hope that you still love me
I hope I never hurt you and that’s why you’re
Gone.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
You are the sweetest dreams,
and alluring songs,
The honey'd days,
and warmest nights.
In my mind i am not scared,
of lonely silence,
of bitter hours,
of colder years.
In my hands air entwines,
flowing softly,
like imagined hair,
dazed in beauty,
we can but stare.
Then with a start,
it all but flitters.
Nothing in place,
nothing to quell,
the hearts loving pace.
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 5:53 PM UTC
I can hear his voice once again,
in every moment not filled with obsession,
im drowned in his deepest depression.
He screams through eyes that deafen emotion,
a pain so deep it stirs me to motion.
He's stealing everything ive tried to build,
that innocence that power that i've regained,
he rips and tears in an anger once famed.
He is my tempest behind locked doors,
the one i fear and love to my core.
I can feel the power in every vibration,
His passion it pains me and weakens my presence,
with hands that rip and break in godly omnipotence.
for eventually he wins and my defenses they fall,
and beaten by fists that memory recalls.
He is a danger to my right of mind!
too many times has he rendered me blind!
push him back and gag his voice!
chain him so he has no choice!
so in my mind he no longer flitters,
and give me clarity with purity glitters.
So once again i kiss the mirror,
hoping to make your anger winter.
to lock your voice and calm your crying,
and in your cage i watch you dying,
goodnight the boy i used to be,
sleep now in treasured dignity unburdened with this duplicity.
Dec 21, 2010
Dec 21, 2010 at 4:11 PM UTC
Aislinn and her brother
holed up by the river.
She says, “I feel funny,”
as he pours her another.
The wind shakes the ramparts;
the vinyl house flitters with ominous slithers.
It’s cold, but that’s not why she shivers.
Her head softly sways to the beat of the drum that is
smashing and ripping the walls of her lungs.
The garter emerges with ravenous fervour -
sinks its teeth into the flesh of her thigh, as she hums
a lullaby.
A blaze erupts to the left - there’s a flash in his eyes -
and she closes hers tight,
for she knows that tonight
that what’s left of the white -
will be lost.
There is no coming back from the dusk, after this.
Stooped by the water she scrubs the stained satin -
all frantically achingly -
but her efforts are lost amongst rust-coloured memories.
All the limbs of the lamb have been severed sadistically
and he’s tossing them into the fire.
There is no use in running from it;
the web has been spun
and sewn into the veins that bind
each waif-like wrist.
She knows now what she must do;
so she snatches the torn torso,
and with lamb tucked to *****
leaps longingly into the blistering bright.
It feeds on the tenderness – like a leech in her heart.
And she closes her eyes,
for she knows that last night,
what was left of the light
was lost.
It will be the last night,
but there is no coming back from the dusk, after that.
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 1:34 PM UTC
I can only summon feelingfulness like the passing of a dove,
postponing its arrival mid-air, somewhere along the tucked
bramble across Poblacion, starting with metaphorical sensibility
or an insensibly bland space to procure wanted meaning.
Girls prefer roses and their bright foreheads diademed with more
flowers, and boys, their chiaroscuro or lack of a color thereof, seems
to be fitting in this maladroit contrast, and so I begin, as always,
with your very vague and caged memory. Your face, the whiteness
of snowcapped alps. Your strut, my slalom in a treacherous course
of words reduced to whisperings, to flutings. Your voice, though nuanced,
flitters with an overtone of arrogance: if sound was clothed, yours would
be flamboyant ermine. And the line in front of you before I, my arbitrary turn,
assimilates into a picturesque form of waiting somewhere in Cubao.
I wanted to smash myself with train-speed towards the metallic turnstile,
which, would then famish me even so, just as much as I wish to be a car crash
somewhere within the outskirts of your town, heavily vandalized by the swill
of squalor hefting itself like the rest of the world conscious of its viscera.
This is how I start you – like waiting for the sun to emerge by Borobudur,
or the clandestine *** of mildew and grass, a hundredfold of images appear
before me and I cannot choose upon my whims and caprices. Are you a dove?
A spear of Sun? A thunderous crackle of an impending rain? A harlequin?
A moseying cirrus? Or just another by-stander in the crowds where I ultimately
seek your being?
This answerlessness measures my knowledge of star, and my breath snuffed
out of me while I sigh from exhausted penchants, outweigh dissimilarities and symmetries.
A progeny from all superseding conundrums arises: are you a retrogression of a wave
back to its saltine wound, flailing in brine? Or are you just the vast sea and nothing else
on a fine and lucid day where children skip stones and chant name-callings?
I sense the peril in this undertaking, and much to my chagrin, I still
do not know how to end you.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:09 AM UTC