"incidentally" poems
I love birthday cake
especially cake with thick
vanilla icing
but a German chocolate cake
would be a great one too.
I like it with ice cream
and icing colored designs on it.
Incidentally being sweetened
wedding cake turns me on too.
I hate it when you get a thin slice
of birthday cake due to being
a diabetic.
I love it to see people eating
their cake with forks
I love how some motherly cooks
come up with a chocolate
icing cake with really
funny waking candles on it.
I like to blow out candles.
I like it when you're old
and the just have one candle
because there wouldn't be enough room
for all the candles as old as you are
somehow I think I already
wrote a song about this subject
but that was a while back.
p.s. You may wonder how I
can go on about trivia like
the essence of birthday cake
but I do.
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 3:43 PM UTC
I remember it was cold and quiet. We stood up beneath the scattering stars.
Silently staring at the landscape outspread in front of us, where the mountain touched the sky.
Losing count on the steps taken, you wondered how many dreams townspeople had to reach the summit tower seen from afar;
Spreading lights randomly with no purpose to guide. Little yet arrogant. Like a candlestick being put on the top of the world, accidentally.
Or maybe, incidentally placed to embody the messiah for those who would discover it that way — which might be peculiarly irrational.
Despite the lame fact, it still mesmerized you. I just knew the moment your starry eyes were seen in the dim night. And out of the blue, it captivated me too.
We sneaked from the despotic night, releasing laughs from the deepest and most untouched alley in our lungs. Our fears were freed.
Nonchalant towards the thing ahead of us, even to the time that felt prematurely withered.
"I remember once this priest brought hope to our house, and we just followed him since then", you said. That’s how you told me that miracle wasn’t the thing that kept us living, but hopes that enlightened.
Unyielding lost in the most chaotic ecstasy I have ever encountered. It became that moment when a knock on the door wouldn’t be able to break our reverie.
Modest. Humble.
We then walked unafraid through the open door that led us to the home where the sun rises.
Aug 14, 2022
Aug 14, 2022 at 9:26 AM UTC
Something about being 151 miles from home
walking around barefoot all day
in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, California
wearing a vest and some black cotton pants,
drinking good Cabernet and lots of water,
eating homemade pasta salad and chicken sandwiches,
in the early-Autumn Summer-esque temperatures,
the third day of the 2013 Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival,
witnessing Gogol Bordello and The Devil Makes Three,
with my great Friends, and also Roomates, Abdul and his Wife,
and their friend and her 20 month old Son
makes me feel sort of ... *****
Funny how that works;
Unprotected feet on very Public grounds
Unprotected feet on verily treded grounds;
Going barefoot is nice, though.
(Except the ******* sidewalks, incidentally.
Even the streets are nicer to walk on barefoot. Even pineneedles!
I am disappointed, San Francisco! I thought you were on the side of the hippies!)
If anything was learned from the Sixties,
it's that unprotected anything
in San Francisco
is easily a hazard.
-
Now, that was a ******* amazing day.
Now; to the shower and then directly the **** to bed!
Away!
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 2:39 AM UTC
Keep me in your locket, doll,
Keep me tied real tight.
Keep me safe, my love,
Or I might die of fright.
And fear.
And Paranoia
This is nothing to kid.
I am totally, and incidentally afraid of my mirror.
And my friends.
And enemies,
Frenemies,
They're truly out to get me.
Ghosts around every corner and skeletons in e'ry closet.
I am trying not to cry and dying to avoid it
This hell that holds me
Baby
Lock it
Lock it
Lock it
Baby, keep me in your pocket
Baby
Lock it
Lock it
Lock it
Baby, keep me in your pocket
Oh, lock it
Lock it
Lock it
I'm crying.
Keep me in your locket, doll,
Keep me tied real tight.
Keep me safe, my love,
Or I might die of fright.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC
the little pink paper clamp
you see once upon a time there was a little pink paper clip
which had three anchors on it, one of them is blue, and
2 are black. the anchors mean it keeps the paper from blowing
away, you see it opens really widely and it keeps all of your
personal papers from blowing away, but what i am doing
is saying, what will happen in the anchors wanted to move away
from the paper clip, like if one moved, it will lose 1 third of the power
and if it lost 2 anchors, they would lose 2 third of the power.
if it lost all three of the anchors, the power of the paperclip will
lose all it’s power and the only way to get the anchors back is
go the ship dock and take some of the anchors there, sure it
might mean the ships haven’t got anchors but this paperclip needs
it anchors because it needs the power of which it brings.
at present the little pink paperclip without the anchors is sitting
at the bottom of the stationery desk hoping that one day the anchors
will come back so he can keep paper in a folder.
this was going to be a hard job, as the people thought the anchors
were way to heavy to carry home, despite the anchors being small
on the clip, so one man went out on a boat who was doing whale watching
and when they threw out the anchor, which incidentally was blue, and he had
to stay by the anchor, so when the tour was over, he took the anchor away
and the blue one goes in the middle of the paperclip, and then he walked around the
other ships to find 2 black anchors to give the paperclip a lot of power to keep the paper
down, but there was only one black anchor on every boat, so he rang up the company
to find a black anchor to make up the 3, but he took one black anchor to bring back to
the paperclip and it got two thirds of the power, but they were having a hard time
trying to find the other black anchor, you see they found a pink anchor, the same colour as
the paperclip, and they found a pink anchor but it was far to light, they found a green anchor
but it was like green cordial, so he went out again and he got a orange anchor, but no it wasn’t the one
and he bought a purple anchor, the same colour as black, but no way, this wasn’t working, none of these
anchors fitted on the paperclip, so they looked hard and wide, hoping they will find a black anchor
you see they needed to keep the paper from blowing away from everywhere around the office, and just
as we gave up for day, we found the second black anchor and we put it on the paperclip and it worked
the paper was tightly on the folder, and that is how they gave anchor power to the paperclip, but the only
problem is, the ships will miss their anchor, so we must go out to buy some for them, and we did, and
our paperclip hooked the paper together and every boat was anchored down, and everyone is happy.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 2:01 AM UTC
I was not allowed to be angry, so I bottled and drank
my rage with wine chilled by too many ice cubes--
I suppose that’s why I shiver at inappropriate times.
My parents said: You have to be the better person.
Even as you ***** those girls, called my sister a liar,
mocked my mother and father as they drove to town,
attempted to arrest me for “demeaning of character.”
But I lost my temper, once, I felt it hot like nausea
creeping all the way to my fingertips before I
screamed and shouted and shattered two glass bulbs
hard against the tallest pine tree in our backyard.
I cut my middle finger picking up all the chips,
incidentally making me rethink my plan to punch you.
Instead, I imagined myself holding my father’s pistol,
the one he showed me how to shoot from 100ft,
complete with target acquisition training--just in case
you tried running--we both know you never
took me seriously enough for that. I bought a faceless
target shaped like a man, picturing your acne-skinned
cheeks warped with that smirk you wore when I tried
telling you to **** off. All this before my anger faded,
fog rising from too-hot blacktop pavement when the air
cooled, snowflakes falling as I stuck my tongue out,
swallowing each crystal like a word I could have said.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 12:24 AM UTC
what are you addicted to?
What you on?
Oxycoton?
Percoset?
Methadone?
Vicodin?
****
Xanax
Diesel
Dope?
Krocodil?
or...
Just jack and ****
they tell me *** is dangerous...
I have nothing today
and so much things to say
Did your best friend get shot 72 times on
Thursday?
On the woodpile
or
In the passenger seat?
Wife take everything
And leave you
After 30 years?
You homeless now?
Or just broke-in.
Did Your wife die:
An intentional dose of an incidentally fatal
Dope?
Did you husband-
An engineer for Ford Motor company
Get burned alive?
black
Was it you
who
found the ashes?
Did they throw you in prison
For your depression?
You have addictions
And a little help
But no music-
Ipods
are not allowed here
and
You are grasping at existence but
existance
don't seem to know you
no-more
Your still breathing
Though
You haven't failed at existence itself
yet
Impulsive
destructive
What chemicals are they feeding you
In your cages?
T.T. has 17
medications but
she almost got killed last night
Because she's allergic
to aspirin.
Are they treating you with
Risperdal?
Or
Lamictal like me?
Is it helping-
or making it ten times worse?
making
any difference at all?
It's called practice and we are
the test-tube
Jon's heart has been in defib 8-times
twice due to accidental overdoses
by doctors
We can have too-many
anything.
I don't believe in accidents
though
no more.
seen-too many
felt-too much
You self-admitted and
at least your still breathing
this place is full of madness but here at 1-east
we're still dreaming.
pax 2013
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
*I think about ***
I think
about ***
It's that kind of thing you're not supposed to think about
but everyone already expects that you do
It's the thing you hear in whispers
and shouts
which people mask with humor.
It's touch magnified
amplified
yet lately
cheapened.
I think about ***
not the *** of two hot bodies
mixing their sweat
but the *** of exploration
knowing everything about the other person
hands moving slowly
in pitter patters
sifting carefully through limbs and bedsheets.
Incidentally,
there are melanin filled marks all over my body
something I inherited from my mother
on bored quiet days
I wonder
if anybody
someday
somewhere
will knead through all my folds
and count
each
one.
I think about ***
..how another's arms
and fingers feel
tracing lines and curves
hands following the rise and fall
chests beating to the quiet rhythms of exhaled breaths
..how a kiss feels with lips closed
because tongues are disgusting alien creatures
I don't want to think about
(which is kind of funny I guess because *** has that other stranger 'alien')
Incidentally,
my sketch pad smells of oil pastels
my journal's almost filled
I have a math exam next week
a biology quiz tomorrow
I'd sure love some chocolate
ice cream maybe?
I think about ***
but not
too much.
Aug 25, 2011
Aug 25, 2011 at 6:27 AM UTC
I saw demise in her eyes
acceptance of a summarized
existence in this instance
incidentally its in stints
well baby take my hand and
we'll ride the intertwining serpentine
you feelin my energy in an instant
i feel
i know you missed this
lips reveal whats sealed from description
oh woe to words, absurd innately
oh woe to words' deceptive paintings
We owe an ode to the world, and im thinking maybe
its this moment
its this moment
in this moment I feel relative
in this moment, man, im so not relevant
what tomorrow holds, there is no tellin ya
weve only just crossed paths
yet Ive known you for millennia
Universal Invocations
serendipitous relations
deceitful daggers draped in red cloths
slash at eternal hearts carried by temporary raven claws
disperse
fall into insanity
and land in my lap of chance
no more wallowing in the mire
rhetorical kiaros at a glance
awake, shake these dreams from my hair
evaporate those inhibitions into thin air
exposed soul, open emotion to bare
tip-toeing the peripherals of Medusa's glare
convergence in a vicious cycle
vinyl in perpetual spiral, we rendezvous in eternity
convergence in a vicious cycle
vinyl in perpetual spiral, situated, stuck internally
Many moons might fall and several suns will set
but in this instance, together, we'll always be infinite
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
COLD, HARD flesh - a very lonely girl in a room filled with fluttering moths and fully-functional nooses
- Makes a game plan, in an effort to:
- penetrate your wavering, wandering, yet wholly conscious mind
(The fate - the fear - lurks in the futility, the fragility, of your unsuspecting ears)
- Equipped with: an anchor (the rock-climbing kind, in order to avoid a metaphor), followed by some paper (and a pen - the use of my blood as script seems overly dramatic), and - a concoction of incredible (and edible!!) proportions
THE GOAL:
- To become the smallest presence possible, to take up the tiniest amount of space in the real and imagined world, and to in turn envelope your very existence - like a Sunday driver in rush hour
- with emphasis on:
The slope of your neck - I could mount my anchor into it and climb for days; I could nest in your ****** Youth cut when I reach the top, I could build the world's smallest fire with the world's saddest hands
STEP ONE:
When secured in predesignated cocoon, I will unleash the first sheaf - a perforated edge - and enclose a minuscule fragment of my still-breathing soul (for your keychain, perhaps, but preferably your pocket)
STEP TWO:
I will mail you a fraction (incidentally, a subject I still can't grasp) every week until:
- I have decreased in size with each turn, I get smaller and smaller until my tangibility disappears entirely and the only presence left of me is a slip that reads:
- apply to areas affected (only as directed)
Wait! No, not only that- my very own subconscious now rests inside your "thinking cap"
- INTRODUCING: Your every day monotony, now littered with:
- 17 scratched mix CDs you didn't want to listen to
- 4 dogs I secretly liked (and only you knew)
- a bright pink dumpster, largely livable
- a rusted mailbox with an ocean in full
- soundless Skype calls in stolen sweaters
- alphabet soup with undiscernable letters
- the unfaltering presence of a cabin in the Alaskan wilderness - confused with the very small and haunted town I couldn't leave to see you - and last but not least -
The ceaseless, repeated chorus of "you belong to me", like an immortal fly in an endless August dream
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
It's weird
how I remember your legs,
the curvage of it and
sparseness it feels, including the
colour tone of it.
It's sweet
how I remember your smile
the one which made your eyes
gleeful as you
parted my bangs lightly.
It's sad
how I remember your texts
those with hurtful but truthful
words which reject yet
lingered with your concern.
It's helpless
how I remember the look
you gave as you incidentally
glanced over, only to hope
that you didn't.
It's painful
how I remember your back
as you turned, after delivering
your last look of longing as if you
wished for more but logic disapproved.
It's bright
how I remember the future
as we used to describe, it is still
bright
to me and my hopeless heart.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
I stirred from a dream-dazed, I saw flashbacks of a knotted
silver gleam. From it a figure bent forward. Here, at last alone in the dark the knight
or stable boy
or creature
took his lover's hand and instead of pressing each fingerprint between his palms
and reciting how he couldn't breathe in her absence
he snatched a dictionary from the nearby shelf and began delivering
words beginning incidentally with the letter H. Over and over again
until he almost fled from the room in Hopelessness.
she was the Hazel in his brewing coffee; the Halo of his prayers
Hideous leaked from the page and he Hiccuped. Reminded suddenly of her behavior
silent, sleepless nights came forth and smothered his speech. Anger rose and each
private grief was spit into the crease of her hairline.
it oozed into the tears between her eyes, splashed onto her sweaty, reaching arms.
drenched, choking in fever, she waited until it settled between the ridge of both ears.
they said nothing
he couldn't look at her-
she couldn't stop staring
after a couple minutes he walked away and
she fell like raindrops into the pinched, center drain
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 5:14 PM UTC
In Abraham Lincoln's city,
Where they remember his lawyer's shingle,
The place where they brought him
Wrapped in battle flags,
Wrapped in the smoke of memories
From Tallahassee to the Yukon,
The place now where the shaft of his tomb
Points white against the blue prairie dome,
In Abraham Lincoln's city ... I saw knucks
In the window of Mister Fischman's second-hand store
On Second Street.
I went in and asked, "How much?"
"Thirty cents apiece," answered Mister Fischman.
And taking a box of new ones off a shelf
He filled anew the box in the showcase
And said incidentally, most casually
And incidentally:
"I sell a carload a month of these."
I slipped my fingers into a set of knucks,
Cast-iron knucks molded in a foundry pattern,
And there came to me a set of thoughts like these:
Mister Fischman is for Abe and the "malice to none" stuff,
And the street car strikers and the strike-breakers,
And the sluggers, gunmen, detectives, policemen,
Judges, utility heads, newspapers, priests, lawyers,
They are all for Abe and the "malice to none" stuff.
I started for the door.
"Maybe you want a lighter pair,"
Came Mister Fischman's voice.
I opened the door ... and the voice again:
"You are a funny customer."
Wrapped in battle flags,
Wrapped in the smoke of memories,
This is the place they brought him,
This is Abraham Lincoln's home town.
1.6k
Seeking my ideal match,
I'm often greeted with a rude reality,
There isn't one.
In this crowded world,
I was made to accept singleton state,
'Coz the gender ratio ain't equal.
Living alone demands a lot,
A lot of strength from a guy,
And that guy has to be strong.
Incidentally, that guy is me.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 5:23 AM UTC
Oh baby,
prepare yourself for a fitting tribute
at the hands of my lyrical ability.
I will rhyme effectively
much as a successful sportsman
might employ his talents
in order to win a tournament of some kind.
Indeed, my mastery of rhythm and rhyme
will be such
that you will find yourself very powerfully
attracted to me.
Girl,
you put me in mind of a famous celebrity
noted for her physical beauty.
If you were, let's say, a car,
you would be
a really good car.
The sort of car
I would wish to own and drive.
Not convinced?
Then let me assure you
that I can easily put paid to my rivals
by deploying the linguistic and musical prowess
which I believe I mentioned above.
Oh yeah.
Incidentally,
I would think nothing
of expending quite considerable sums
on nice things to give you.
That would be nice,
wouldn't it?
So, baby,
if these enticements are sufficient to stir your interest
in me
then I would be delighted
to exchange
contact details
or something.
Oh yeah. Get down.
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 4:23 AM UTC
; climb incidentally a towering flat
at struggling veneration's rawest berry so scarlet a holly droplet
in manifolds of sage
a sundered drooping door
i'm carefully falling porcelain sheeted hammers
languid health a protein remarkably nascent fronds spun
g,Ol
den denting vine
Dec 21, 2010
Dec 21, 2010 at 3:28 PM UTC
It is one in the morning,
My eyes open,
It never fails.
No amount of cotton clouds
Or sheep to count
Can send me back to dreams
Yet to be dreamed.
Nothing else can make me drift,
For I am now wide awake.
Down the stairs I quietly walk
Careful not to waken the others,
Lest they stir from their ongoing snore-y visions.
Straight to the kitchen, I tiptoe,
Make myself a mug of hot, hot coffee,
So I could start
reading,
Taking in a mixture of
Glorious, mad,
Magical, loving,
Happy, groping,
Sad, vengeful moments....
But internalizing all these emotions
Takes its toll...
I stop: it is time to write of
My own moments of glory...
Which incidentally,
Rhymes with...momentary,
Poetry, dignity,
Love-ly, friend-ly,
Complexity, celebrity,
I could go on and on...and
There is only one...
One exceptional moment
That comes to my mind:
One unforgettable, bittersweet autumn...
My mouth, my lips now parted,
My stare, undirected,
Dreaming~~~drifting...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just arrived in Neverlandia!
Swimming through its endless,
Imaginary, intangible seas
Where I am alone
Where I am free
Free, to be with
My intangible one true love
Only there can we hold hands
Only there can our eyes meet
There, where we can stand,
Or sit so close
Breath against breath
Flesh against flesh
No words spoken,
Just eyes talking
No moment wasted,
For no one dare ask or tell the time
In Neverlandia.
~~~~~~~~~~
In such a wondrous journey
I also have acceped:
At the start and even in its midst,
Comes twinges of apprehension
And sadness
That unsettles my heart, my mind,
Thinking outrightly of the
Inevitable end of said journey.
Fleeting, the moments seem,
I must travel back.
~~~~~~~~~~
I ***** for that imaginary switch, and
With a heavy heart,
I turn it off.
~~~~~~~~~~
It is suddenly so cold...
I stretch an arm to reach for
My hot, steaming drink...
Oh, but it has become
A mug of cold, cold coffee!
I border on "mad,"
Lost thoughts now swimming in anger.
Have to chase back my muse,
Refresh my memory
Poem is almost done.
Have to regain
My mind's composure,
Have to ensure
My life's composure.
I need, I need my Panacea
This early morning... yet, I'm
Afraid of that same old question:
"But....where are you?"
~~~~~~~~~~
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 2:23 AM UTC
*all monkeys
of all nations!
stop your chatter
and listen to me mutter
my ancient tail*
1
in earlier days
**** Kong
went to Hong Kong
to look for kang kong
and there she met
King Kong
the first second
they saw each other
their hearts went
**** ****
the second second:
**** ****
in short they fell in love
with each other’s Zong Zongs
and night and day it was all Sing Song
and the earth trembled
with their rumble of love
and construction workers thought
the piling was done
and straight away
***** skyscrapers appeared
and so incidentally was born
modern-day Hong Kong
2
within three months
**** Kong felt
in her womb
a Trong Trong
and an incessant noise:
Pong! Pong!
Pong! Pong!
and on the tenth month
by the lunar calendar
out came Pink Kong -
and so consequently was born
the game of ping pong
and so ends my story of beginnings
and now that
my tail is curled
you can all go home
you ding dongs!
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 6:39 AM UTC
Even if it rhymes incidentally,
You still don't have to care.
After all this is just another poem,
And poems don't need to rhyme.
Some people won't find sense in a non-rhyming poem,
But it's as though I cared if they even read my stupid ones.
Now it seems you get similar feelings about the world incidentally,
But hey, you need not feel yourself alone as there are other poets too.
And if by any thinnest chance you still feel lonely in the world of poetry,
Then look up to the one who might have introduced you to HP like I do.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 12:10 PM UTC
I can turn my gaze away
Command my tongue to never take your name
Be your ***** secret
For as long as you want.
I can lay my eyes on the roads,
Waiting for the day you knock my door,
I can manage not to bait an eye
Every time you go off to her when we fight.
be your anything
But I'm only a girl,
There is only so far I can go,
I'm only a girl,
Who made a mistake of falling in love with you.
I'm only a girl,
So desperately in love,
But I still bleed,
From your unpredictable blows.
I'm only a girl,
Looking at you like you're the **** sun,
But it is still not enough.
I can play pretend,
Tell my friend it's okay,
The marks on my arms, are nothing
I just tripped, a time too many
Incidentally that is also where your hands held me.
I can take the guilt,
I can drown my voice,
I can be your machine,
Aligning my thoughts with what you wish me to be
I can rust my mind, cause what I think is never right,
I can turn deaf and dumb
Be a shiny object you show off to your friends
If that is all it will take
For you to stop inflicting pain,
For you to realise I'm just a human
Because I'm only a girl,
And I lash out and scream,
In hope to get through to you,
Or anyone.
Because I'm only a girl,
On this sinking ship called hope.
A silly girl who has not yet realised
No one else can fix you up
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 9:16 AM UTC
My ego is intact, I stole **** from work and my mom isn’t disappointed in me.
I got papers, I got coffee, I got a lot of sleep, I read about that boxer got shot in the head [incidentally] and they said;
“You can’t keep a good man down for long.”
So I’m trying to find out what is “a good man”? Was it the hit and run I saw, or the fathers pushing their kids as products for their success? My high school class, or pretentious friends, or my managers cozy in jobs supported by nepotism calling me lazy, maybe my half dead beat father who kicked me out when I was 18 and convinced me I’d be an alcoholic if I ever drank.
Now your cleaning my ***** out of your sink and holding me and telling me I’m so good.
Maybe it’s my landlords who I never see, trying to evict me, or all the police officers who put like a hundred bullets in those folks car, or every guy who dished out a backhanded compliment to a girl who already cuts, or maybe, I know, it’s the president of the United States.
I paint my face red with lipstick and wait for the chatter of a crowd to turn into a riot of bodies. I sparkle in the light. I scream.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 12:06 PM UTC
The issue with the Ego isn't the Ego itself:
like many other aspects of sentient Life,
Intention and Willpower navigate a Vessel
whither it may will to be- consciously or no!
True Wisdom is subtle: implicit
in every single last one of the ten-thousand things.
Incidentally, such subtlety nests grave danger:
such capacity to be overlooked or ignored-
manipulated, extorted, distorted;
abused, neglected: abandoned.
Antagonized.
Beware. Tread lightly.
Please think and act with utmost care.
Be as Tao; as the rest.
Non-seek Zen mind.
Everything is precisely as it must be,
with exception of Human mentality.
Follow your Heart, but utilize thy Brain.
Find a purpose and learn from the pain.
Through just struggle does One justly gain.
By Empathy, could we all do just the same?
Let's just try it and see, shall we?
The Force takes care of it's own.
Thank you for reading.
Blessings upon thy Path.
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Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC