"frontiers" poems
Unbiased at least he was when he arrived on his mission,
Having never set eyes on the land he was called to partition
Between two peoples fanatically at odds,
With their different diets and incompatible gods.
"Time," they had briefed him in London, "is short. It's too late
For mutual reconciliation or rational debate:
The only solution now lies in separation.
The Viceroy thinks, as you will see from his letter,
That the less you are seen in his company the better,
So we've arranged to provide you with other accommodation.
We can give you four judges, two Moslem and two Hindu,
To consult with, but the final decision must rest with you."
Shut up in a lonely mansion, with police night and day
Patrolling the gardens to keep the assassins away,
He got down to work, to the task of settling the fate
Of millions. The maps at his disposal were out of date
And the Census Returns almost certainly incorrect,
But there was no time to check them, no time to inspect
Contested areas. The weather was frightfully hot,
And a bout of dysentery kept him constantly on the trot,
But in seven weeks it was done, the frontiers decided,
A continent for better or worse divided.
The next day he sailed for England, where he could quickly forget
The case, as a good lawyer must. Return he would not,
Afraid, as he told his Club, that he might get shot.
31.5k
Welcome to the dawn of a new age
Open up the book turn the page
Let's excel to highest degree
Recognize evolution of humanity
Back on track showing I don't lack
Doing what I do to make you react
Let's take a trip through my mind
Poetry prophecy perfectly combine
Who has the answer?
Let's ask the question
Seems no one is paying attention
To "Money" which is created by man
It separates people
Are you starting to understand
It's a trap set by death it wont stop
Till you breathe your last breath
Hmm that's right...
Not even death is free
Money is the maker of poverty
Overpopulation, segregation a messed up nation
Leads to mass annihilation
Wartime the battles rage on
Is it about hatred?
Or some politician's song?
Time and space
The final frontiers
Bombs explode people run in fear
Annihilation of a species unknown
Aliens from space invade our home
Pledge allegiance to a flag
Whichever may wave whatever they have
Science is it fiction or fact?
Sometimes it's hard to believe all that
Who's gonna do it?
Who has the answer?
Prophets fall but not from cancer
GOD.. Labeled "Almighty One"
Spoke to us on earth through his son
Whether you agree or disagree
Intentions were to save humanity
Who'll stand up?
Who'll be the one?
To bring about change without firing a gun?
Each generation builds off the legacy of the last
Ignorance of history doom us to repeat our past..
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 2:47 AM UTC
Volunteers, PSGs, Staffs
Executive Directors
And higher task allocators.
People pass by
Mic's were off
Facade was the banner of hope.
Voices all over the provinces
All with the same goal
Rightly urged with own reasons.
Two faces were present
Painted with grimace
Or with broaden smiles.
*The screening was stern and severe
Camera rolls on with Level 2
"Next," "Give me another song"
The voice sounds no roughs of plead
A voice pushing rivals
To their very own frontiers
I was startled
So this is how they do it
Selection, great screenings
There're expectators
There're hope hurtles
Dreams will sooner be pulled of.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
My body burns to rove far from man-made
buildings, prisons for the modern soul.
I need to traverse the frontiers white man stole
from those who made it their home.
I've been down to the Everglades of Florida.
Fan boats flew through the estuary lines with roots
of mangroves. I've been to the Hoh Rain Forest of
Washington where fog descended on the shoreline
and married the sulfur smell rising from hot springs.
I must experience America's coast to coast beauty.
Every spare seconds I spend luxuriating in the
sun, thinking of all the places untouched.
My list of desires grows as the glaciers
of Glacier recede in Montana, beckoning
me to the Rocky Mountain Peaks.
Old Faithful gushes, surrounded by wolves and grizzlies.
Someday I'll cross Yellowstone's expansive mountain ranges.
from Idaho to Montana to Wyoming. On the arches of
Utah I'll face my fear of heights and find solace at
the tops of time-layered sandstone towers.
Descending the Grand Canyon I'll study beautiful
colors exposed by years of erosion. In winter
Death Valley will be braved. The lowest and direst point
will exhilarate me with scaled creatures as sand
dunes whisper my name with every hot breath.
The Badlands of South Dakota will hope I come
backpacking through prairies to watch precious bison roam.
California Redwood trees and I will stand side by side
as friends. Yosemite will call me to her cliffs and I will chase
waterfalls and sequoia groves until I've seen it all.
I ache to explore the terrain that bears
my name, the country I call home.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
I got an award
For being the stupidest young boy
With a wax soul
And impressionable.
I thought I'd find something
Nestled here amidst the trees
And I did,
But in no halls but the hall of god
Speaking to me
Dancing between the leaves
Singing with every whispered breeze
And yet when I stepped
Past the threshold and into the
"real world"
I was sold
A maniac of utter delinquency.
Everybody there
Waiting for their turn
Auditioning for the favor of hearts
They'll never win
Can't see
Laughing and wondering
Reading without comprehension
Sticking their *** in the face of the classics
Lap dogs licking the milk from
Professed *******
Thinking they'll be next
Its not resentment--
Is it fair to be bent
Towards dollars that've never been spent?
All those silly parks
Divided from the civilized lands
Frontiers of the past
Left to be little staging areas
For that invisible hand
Kids go on spring break
Take pictures between the towns
Maybe a stop along
On the way
To Vegas
Deep in the desert where it'd **** any other day
I cannot escape the unfathomable beauty of that place,
Living off the world in a way God said
To toil and love the pain
In a way nobody does
I am guilty of pride and
Stuffed like a pie full of anger
Cooking it into solid joy
And trying hard to scrape the cancerous crust away
All the dark sides we avoid
But screaming the heat away is good
Thermal induction is the name of the game
Entropic fizzlements like bubbles in the wind
Sublimating all that ever stood.
Yet soon enough I'll be born anew
And what I leave behind
Lifted up
Nautoloid shell
With a sparkling abalone interior
Someone will place on their shelf
And think,
"I wonder where that thing had been."
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC
Pandemonium seeps, swallows, and creeps like a crawling
Virus barreling havoc far beneath the innermost psyche
Dispatch the strike, angels discern demons alike, appalling
The flight of sparrow's circum to children below
Consumed within a thoughtless crow
All bold to make haste on an hour's race
The final shade seeps under all frontiers
A foe abandoned in fear
Passing tides in the dead of night
Shown troubled to the world's delight
Such lonesome calls to a stranger
Embark on this journey, my ranger
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 4:13 AM UTC
I heard her thoughts breathe.
said,
she needed something with Redwood patience to understand why her mind traveled with butterflies searching for Eden.
Said, she felt ants inside her dreams carrying away the dead.
wondered if there was no limits to how her heart could grow or communicate with anything.
I saw her quaking eyes search for a place to land back before the first words that God said.
She felt the masterpiece come alive at midnight it spoke beyond all languages, treaded outside of logic, flew outside of time, connected itself with everything alive and spoke to her with a simple grace.
Everything is already yours.
Your heart is the doorway home.
She took a piece of me when she left, left an ice pick for me to play with.
Her sensitive nature understood why roots dug down in a quest for warm solace.
My heart almost closed forever, I felt the final straw detour me to wasteland.
I ran emerald frontiers in her eyes,
butterflies landing on my hands
their wings stained my eyelids
I can't go to sleep without flying through her.
my heart headed to the outskirts of Eden
imagining how she is
Loving her from behind bars
Her butterflies never seeking
my garden.
It almost wilted.
Windy wrath almost destroyed it all.
I had to search the silence
Try to understand myself through a tortured past, I had to tame your tyrant that grew inside my head.
I had to bear the weight of impatient voices that I could not repeat to anybody here
but the dead already know it,
Ones that died by their own hand.
I heard her thoughts breathe
said,
our roots go past the stars
hidden in our beating blood
is the whisper and light of God.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 3:57 PM UTC
Now the New Adventure excitement dares...
And...HUH? Your waiting Preview disappeared!
But, why? With so much Stories we do care
How fruitful and ******* your Holiday reared
You signed with a Smile; That much Girls adore
Inside the Jet would Paradise lay its Leis
From there the Codec stopped; Much I restore
What may have consumed the rest of the Day
Spottings? Cocktails? Folklore or Breaker-Dance,
None which I Follow or Dare to presume
This is your Notebook; Far to live by Chance
On how you Grow and Party in your Room.
Preserve your Courage. This is your Best Hour
To check New Frontiers; Increase your Mind by far.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
Whispers of heavenly death, murmur’d I hear;
Labial gossip of night—sibilant chorals;
Footsteps gently ascending—mystical breezes, wafted soft and low;
Ripples of unseen rivers—tides of a current, flowing, forever flowing;
(Or is it the plashing of tears? the measureless waters of human tears?)
I see, just see, skyward, great cloud-masses;
Mournfully, slowly they roll, silently swelling and mixing;
With, at times, a half-dimm’d, sadden’d, far-off star,
Appearing and disappearing.
(Some parturition, rather—some solemn, immortal birth:
On the frontiers, to eyes impenetrable,
Some Soul is passing over.)
2.7k
Dedicated to Sage
Free the day
Feel the sunlight
Fresh and free
Peeking from the vines
Fresh air fills the lungs
As toast finds the plate
As eggs meet bacon
As a backpack meets a shoulder
Fresh and free
Is the young day
Off on new adventures
Off on old frontiers
Off to find friends
A new day bursting
With energy
And charm
The sun still low
The sun hugging the trees
Reaching through the windows
Pulling you into a new day
Mar 14, 2011
Mar 14, 2011 at 11:12 PM UTC
Stretch me out and count me like clouds
Say she is vapour
Venom, velvet and vermouth
With hair of hazelnut rapture
Clutch the moments, clutch the moonbeams
Clutch the stretched out skies of cloud and mustard gas sunset
Sing she is a child of trauma
Supressed in the name of breathing
Violence in the name of skin
And she is venom, velvet and vermouth
She was born to pink salt lakes in the low country
With ruby pomegranate eyes
And hair of hazelnut rapture
Girl with the soul of a thousand pilgrim journeys
Girl with the soul of a blackberry bush
Girl with the soul of olive trees and sheep meat and oven bread in the fire country
Human smiles
And other dark things of value
She lies like velvet
She lies in the name of supressing traumas
In the name of breathing
She bleeds like a billion stars bleed vapour
She is venom and vermouth
With hair of hazelnut rapture
She is the sum of a thousand pilgrim journeys
The prayer of holy rivers in the canyon country
The smoke of incense burned by sages
The scars of bodies burned by crusaders in mustard gas chambers
Goddess of Nuclear energies
Red-eyed like ruby pomegranates
Like the dewy cauldron of morning
When tenuous steps lead bodies down the path of executionary revolution
To boarders, frontiers, walls of white-skin scar tissue
Sing songs of Babylon in the free country
Clutch the moments
Clutch your breaths and hold them in broken palms
Clutch the tides and teach them
Breach your rib-cage, unstitch and return the borrowed bones
Melt the metaphoric thrones
Breathe backwards in the name of unsupressing traumas
In the name of truth
Stretch me out and count me like clouds
Girl of angel-breath ambition
Soul of blackberry bush and smile of splintered terracotta tile
Sing your songs
Say she is vapour
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 1:32 PM UTC
Only once you reach new frontiers
does the human mind decide they want to expand a little more
there is only
one
one love
one peace
one number that counts
when it comes to crunch time and you are lost in the dark where else can you turn to but you?
when there is government corruption and manipulaton of information
and there is no such thing as a truthful lie
expect
the worst they say , but come, one is not the number i'm talking about
i'm talking about 0.
the halo , the magicians secret .
add a 0 to any number and suddenly, it's worth a heck of a lot more.
And my dear friends, fellow poets ...weaver of words....minstrels of sound , technicians of language - there is one very , very , very , very subtle thing that i reckon... we know better than any legislation paper or cop with gun to head or bomb dropped or whatever warfare you want to call this
is , the ideas in our poems are not always our own,
unknowingly... or to some perhaps knowingly we have connected each other to each other
string theory using words as dimensions.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
Exploring unforseen frontiers,
the Basil Confederate meets
a prayer called Monday.
Huddle your anticipation,
my Manatee is growing restless
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 9:03 PM UTC
Goodnight anthropocentrism—
Mitochondria swim in your stardust
But Contraverse awakens on the
Frontiers of the Valerian Kingdom
At the gnarled staff of the Oil Sage
Taking root between the Earth’s furrows
Springing forth fountains of sweetest Nard
The Jewel of Jatamansi emerges glistening green
In it the eye of the beholder finds the
Seeds of a once forbidden dream
Germinating in the juices of this Gem
Out of it the silent roar of a thousand fields pressing
Aromatic oceans through bursting buds
Of Lavender pagodas rapturously trumpeting forth
Framed by stacks of soft sweet musky Sage
Broad and leathery like elephant’s ears
Curtained with a soft cascade of Orange blossom snow
The sweet kiss of Neroli on your brow
Imbibing the senses with paralyzing pungency
Tangling tendrils to heartstrings
And pulling us beneath Rosewater pools
Floating breathlessly ensconced in a dream
Primordial songs whispering wordlessly,
“Wake whenever you’re ready . . .”
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
Look far beyond your nose
Imagine the wording prose your mind recites despite the fights between the lights;
Stand-back to back with your enemies
And believe that you are safe,
A mistake;
Craving knowledge of everything from your existence
To your beliefs
I believed I was falling down the trail
And all hail the misguided princess;
She's so misguided the North Pole becomes south
And the south;
Exiting from her mouth
With a flow; the beautiful candles of her heart.
The beautiful candles of her heart
Those that lit stormy fire inside mine
Those that lit up the dark pits of something I forgot about,
And all about my whereabouts
I see the signs of inconclusive doubts
Over my forehead, reflected upon people's faces;
And eyes look at me with non-empithetical sympathy
The symphony of eyelashes flapping over a lost identity.
I'm lost.
All those spiritual stoppages
Are causing my hands to shiver
All those figurative speech as she caresses her words
Preparing mine to stutter
Are making my eyes darken
And my faith to dismay;
I may,
Or may not be the person you want to find
But I find you the person I was never looking for
Yet I still crave the carves you carve on my hands.
The snapping bones of anger;
The cracking knuckles of regret;
The apprehensions preconceived with the threats;
The young man lost his track
The young man lost in the wild
With ideas even wilder
And actions that do not convey his messages
For the circles of bees become limits to his being;
For the frontiers of fighting lions
Become barriers to his block,
That upper corner in dying arteries; hidden
Way over the Mediterranean seas forgotten,
That young man is creating chaotic cancellations,
Phones typing messages of hesitation,
Brains articulating pieces of his own creation,
A salutation be upon my buddy
The young fellow who got lost facing everybody,
And everybody cheered as they watched;
His being stepped on, and heart being stabbed
The chats between the minds
Become cramps
The cramps in his existence become fatal agitation
The agitations in his life become psychiatric misinterpretation
For he got it all wrong
Everyone got it all wrong
But does that stop him?
Let alone
Does that stop all the fake men who built their empires upon forged pillars?
Killers,
Of characteristics;
Followers,
Disciples and students
To a dark lady
Typing her last words of goodbye
Over a phone that’s found in her palms
Yet lost,
In a young girl's heart.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 10:06 AM UTC
how unlike stars we are!
they have been there
for longer than the soil
under your feet can remember.
their timid flicker constant before our eyes,
an eternal pattern drawn on the dark skies.
while we, ephemeral beings, are born and die,
stars, forever above, watch, wise.
and yet, as the night falls,
as those stars seemingly shine
in perfect and close union,
in truth, they are most scattered
across the infinite Space.
while some, as far as can be,
are woven into mystical fabric
on the frontiers of the Universe
others are just within
a single galaxy's reach
(oh, to stretch my arms above
and touch a star's warm fingers!)
so when we lay our small heads
on the pliant grass
and turn our eyes up to the night sky;
when we see constellations made from those
eternal diamonds of light,
in truthful honesty,
we see a lie.
for stars are, for what it counts,
entirely alone.
(perhaps we are not so unlike stars, after all.)
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 4:45 AM UTC
(Creation to the end of an Ice Age)
© 2008 (Jim Sularz)
Sun’s first rise over life-less skies, the earth cools, and the waters pool -
the sun burns East to West.
And the planet’s broken plates quake and move.
Lightning strikes, the waters stir, and the bonds of life begin to churn -
the sun burns East to West.
And the waters swirl in a living urn.
Strange aquatic things, they all evolve, some spiny finned, start to crawl -
the sun burns East to West.
And they slowly stretch ***** and tall.
Eons past where the cunning reign, a savage place, with small sized brains -
the sun burns East to West.
And the dead surrender their twisted remains.
An asteroid streaks from the sky, blocks out the sun, cause most to die -
the sun burns East to West.
And all in the blink of time’s eye.
Footprints in stone, some on mountainsides, make it clear that rocks don’t lie -
the sun burns East to West.
And the fossils always tell the time.
Eons past and eons more, the fittest evolves, and man is born -
the sun burns East to West.
And the early brain, once fast asleep, begins to dream and mourn.
The first million years, man lives in fear, learns to hunt, invents the spear -
the sun burns East to West.
And migrates to claim the vast frontiers.
Tools from stone and controlled fire, creates language, that shake man’s empire -
the sun burns East to West.
And splash cave paintings with human inspire.
Life-times of hunter-gathering, and story-telling in the dark -
the sun burns East to West.
And a world spins with a million hearts.
The earth starts to warm, the oceans rise, and the waters shape the lands -
the sun burns East to West.
And when an Ice Age ends, then comes, the Age of Man.
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
**This land, where we can roam free
Boundaries have been set up
Mapped by the pen of a cartographer
Continents drifted apart, tectonic shifts
Ripping across the land mass
The mightiest of mountains turned to rubble
Giving rise to new landmarks
The fury spewing fire, the molten lava
Created fissures along the ground
Rivers of fire flowing across the veins of Earth
Resentment of nature marched to new frontiers
Earth transformed itself, to a new avatar
New landscapes and greenery adorned it
In the coronation ceremony of the usurper
Commandeering life - forms to a new future
We are living that dream for centuries
Without an inkling of the next rebellion**
© Amitav (Radiance)
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
they say god is perfect.
that holds true for me, too.
no concept contains me in totality.
Stirner wrestled with the undefinable:
an indefatigable Unique,
anarchic,
lacking category.
Camus perhaps said it best,
"i rebel, therefore i exist."
i strive to personify resistance.
i find the answers
in harmony with Counterparts,
defining *The Difference
Between Hell
and Home*:
"i am what i am
and i am an outcast."
an outlaw,
a nobody
akin to Nietzsche,
returning infinitely—
stretched like so many grains of sand
on time's flat surface, orbiting
eternally around the creative Nothing
at half-past 3:00 in the morning.
a singularity,
deconstructing
Derrida's Différance.
a nomad on the margins,
wandering aimlessly,
roaming perpetually
with Deleuze and Foucault,
an astronaut arranged
along the endless frontiers
of an ever-expanding cosmos.
Vonnegut recognized
the periphery affords
a radical view
to the few who choose
to embrace that which cannot be Known.
a zero-sum game
between Death and me,
staving off manic-depressive ennui
if only momentarily.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 2:55 AM UTC
what lies in the vast frontiers of space
scientists have pondered on this very thing
they've boarded rockets to check out the place
is there only little green men a gleaming
at the far reaches of the celestial plain
scientists have pondered this very thing
inquiring earth minds taking the interplanetary train
so many worlds yet to be well investigated
at the far reaches of the celestial plain
can this orb support life and can it be populated
a glimpse of what is out there seen on Mars
so many worlds yet to be investigated
they reckon man might dwell upon a galaxy of stars
an upbeat community of scientists filled with joy
a glimpse of what is out there seen on Mars
Earthlings with state of the art technology to employ
an upbeat community of scientists filled with joy
what lies in the vast frontiers of space
they've boarded rockets to check out the place
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 7:50 AM UTC
we'd wake up and play with magic
like any other game of pretend
bath towel tied into a cape
we'd approach an empty plastic top hat
wand in hand
we were tapping into an ancient power
that we barely even knew
we've played a superhero, Sub-zero
and now, a miracle worker
there was nothing we couldn't do
we'd climb trees to the summit branches
as high as we'd dare to go
we'd lower the hoop and dunk with ease
alley-oops, 360s
sometimes in slow-mo
there was nothing but room
to grow and explore
frontiers of the imagination
seized on roller blades with plastic swords
we'd tie skateboards to the back of bicycles
and Jamaican bobsled down the street
we were free ninjas in the 90s
off to adventures no one sees
we'd front roll down hills like hedgehogs
we'd scrape knees
we'd footrace to the stop sign and back
to pretend we're going faster
we'd kick clouds of dust in our tracks
we'd steal bricks from the neighbor's garden
and throw them into lakes to see the splash
we'd throw pebbles to see how high they'd go
or paper planes from the top of the staircases
one time, we jumped off:
it was a dare
we did it though
we unscrewed the air cap from the tires
of our enemies' parked cars
we clapped back with super soakers
the block was truly ours
we'd play until the streetlights came on
with more discoveries left unseen
and in the shadows while sleeping
we'd play catch with our dreams
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 10:51 PM UTC
I’m thinking about my real identity!
I’m looking at the sky..
Without frontiers and any plan,
I’m sailing and I don’t know why…!
With peace in mind!
We can have English, Dutch friends!
Why not alien friends?
We should stop religious fight..
Old candles in European Light!
No identity cards, no passports!
We want to be free...
We want to live in a full democracy!
Connect with us in Ecademy...
Warm Regards!
Victor Marques
Dec 10, 2009
Dec 10, 2009 at 10:33 PM UTC
Poets are writers of infinite truths
Shamanistic travelers exposing fear
Paper and pen prophets rousing the obtuse
Quasi-harbingers of new frontiers
Politicians and their paid speechwriters
Lifetime career prostitutes of lies
Cyrano de Bergerac shysters
Writing pledges they will deny
Poetic outlaws of verse redefining
Societal boundaries of acceptance
Brigands of rhyme rocking the boat
Poems with intended disturbance
Every society needs outlaws
Rebuff the system
Fight back
Or
Withdraw
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
the revolution, or should I say,
the American one, was such a
beautiful time because it was
last era were hope persisted in
this world
though they knew times were
not getting better, they knew
that their children, or the child’s
children, or the child’s children’s
offspring, would one day inherit
the beauty of this world
those men in ***** wigs and
uncomfortable cotton could
believe like few others in
history
sure, some might say the french,
in their coup d’état, had as much
or more vigor as their American
peers, but as I recall, their fervor
would turn on them and consume
them like a fire burning out of
control
some too argue that the generations
following the fathers, those trekking
out the western frontiers, those going
off to the civil, the first, and the second
world wars were just as brave and yes
they were
brave
they were brave indeed
but they were not filled
with hope
they did not expect to win
they expected to die
they expected to fail
to lose, to go down in
history as nothing and
that was enough for
them
but not Washington
not Jefferson,
not Madison,
not Adams,
not Hamilton,
not Franklin.
they weren’t in it for history,
they were in it for the future
for the history
of the day after
tomorrow
they
fought because
they knew
they
could
win
until today this optimism
had died
until today, when I, looking into the
future and seeing nothing, still smile,
there was no one who truly understood
that life is not about living
it is about the lives that go on living
after you
Sep 11, 2011
Sep 11, 2011 at 10:07 PM UTC
I am on your chest of fighting pearls
Like a rack of phobias hovering over you
I push my eight legs hard between your ribs
As not only your pupils dilate
Your ribcage is wide open for me
To feast merciless on your frighted heart
I watch you with my thousand hooded eyes
As you arch your back with eyes closed
You hate so many things
Like morning breath and crumbs
But I will push this acrid vapour into you
As I press your back deep through the floor
I will take you there, come with me
Where you cannot go, by yourself
Don’t kneel before me, get the **** up and face
As we both push on to unpaced frontiers...
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 4:52 AM UTC