"procured" poems
Why would it be bad
To have cake and also eat it?
Why is that a metaphor of greed?
What else should I do with cake?
It could be a piece of art
Something beautiful to behold
But it’s purpose is to be eaten
It’s cake
Yes, I would like my cake
And to eat it as well
I want to enjoy
The things I enjoy
Not simply to hold them in my hands
Stare at them upon a platter
Wonder what they taste like
I want to eat the cake
It was made for someone to eat
Why not me?
Too much cake
Will make me fat
The sugar and flour
Conspire together to build a gut
It is not healthy to eat cake daily
I cannot keep cake in the house
The temptation is too great
But everything in moderation
A piece of cake here and there
To be had and to be eaten
Is a nice treat
The daily grind of salads and chicken
Nuts and fish
Avocado and eggs and water
Will keep me healthy
Grounded
So when I feel like cake
I can have it
Order cake for dessert
Or to celebrate a birthday
An accomplishment
Or anniversary
No one bats an eye
But order cake for breakfast?
Might just incite a riot
There is a time and place for cake
Society has deemed it so
We are not the rulers of our own lives
(Though we could be)
Instead our culture dictates
The rules of life
Steak for breakfast or for dinner
But not lunch
Bread goes with every meal
Eggs and bacon are for the morning
But at night is a nice treat - on occasion
Beer after five
But it’s five o’clock somewhere
And somewhere
Someone is ready for dessert
So **** it
Let’s eat this cake
That I have procured
You and me, together
Let’s have our cake
And eat it too
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 6:19 AM UTC
Google is the gift for
An inquisitive student,
Who is in search to
be knowledgeably potent.
Although it makes
One so dependent,
It bestows erudition
That is too consistent.
Google serves us with mail,
That saves our time to sail.
It’s services like the maps
Leaves a stranded person to bridge the gaps.
Gaps? Yes, it bridges the gaps
With all its possible apps,
The interests of the public
And concepts of the prolific.
When Google well handed
Our queries have added,
Whose possible solutions have multiplied,
For which the efforts been phenomenally divided.
With the transforming technologies
In this world of transience
Google has procured
Its own state of omnipresence.
Thus, Google has become the tool
With which the user can rule.
It endows as a surfing equipment
Hence, Google is the gift for a Student.
Jan 7, 2020
Jan 7, 2020 at 1:40 AM UTC
I sold smack on a playground today
biding time to scrounge the rent--
Two months ago I had never even seen the stuff.
I'd never procured it for personal use,
let alone sold it.
Now I'm a full-time pusher of prescriptions
for problems that can't be cured,
a modern-day snake-oil salesmen
schlepping panaceas for every conceivable ill.
*Trying to cope with depression?
This'll give you a shot in the arm!
Your boyfriend just broke your heart
mere weeks after breaking your *****
Here's a ***** that you can depend on*...
I thought I was better than this,
but who can afford scruples
with bills to pay?
Internally
I struggle to compete
with people who would never deign to take note of me.
My revenge is in undermining their immaculate lives,
a pill-peddling Socrates
keeping creditors at bay.
I'd always envisioned being someone's hero--
at least being remembered for an act of creation.
Instead I'm an enzyme for eradication.
A cancer cell at best--
A ****** wrecking ball.
One day I woke up a sidekick
to a heroine that's never saved anyone...
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 12:53 AM UTC
I think I've procured myself again
The word 'filth' comes to mind
(For lack of a better word)
Yeah, I'm a *****
Unmetalled in the interface
It took yet another 'kind' word
Or should that be 'false' word
To realize what they think of me
To think
With their mangled good looks
Ubiquitous in psyche
Like they ever gave a chocolate-flavoured ****
Soon they'll all have had a go with me
And i'll become
How do you say? Sui generis?
Numb betwixt the thighs
I 'detest' myself
(For lack of a better word)
And I stare at the periwinkle
To find relief
And that's still no relief
Because I'm jealous of periwinkle
The capita thinks it's 'beautiful'
And of course 'I am no periwinkle'
(For lack of a better understatement)
For lack of a better me.
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 4:06 PM UTC
Pompeii stood proud near Naples.
Close to Herculaneum.
When in August of AD 79.
Volcano magnificent erupted.
Without nonchalance.
A buried city born.
Complete with frescoes of erotica.
Were subject to ancient censorship.
City modern with flowing water.
Trendy port.
Gymnasium.
Modernist by all accounts.
Population 20 000.
Mostly perished in brimstone's evacuation.
From the deepest depths of hell.
Suffocated nearly all.
Asphyxiated on vile fumes.
Eruption cataclysmic.
City buried far underground.
By written description.
'Tis believed that hell on earth unleashed.
The day following magical celebrations.
Worshiping Vulcanalia the Roman God of Fire.
Ironic tragedy procured.
Few survived the tragedy.
Those that did ran free
Anarchy, starvation.
Mainly petty larceny.
Landscape near destroyed.
Pliny the Younger wrote in a letter.
Vivid description of images seen as Pliny the Elder tried to rescue a few.
Felt perhaps had a duty to do.
Was admiral proud of the Roman fleet.
His life taken in forfeit as citizens from the ash world perished.
Pax Romana followed tragedy.
Dealt such a wicked card.
Embalmed in ash citizens lay.
Locked forever on the spot as they ran away!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 6:35 AM UTC
Reach into the nothingness
Like a warm breath slipping into the cold night
Hands outward, eyes open, upwards towards the sky
Embrace the silent subtle voice
Which hides behind the daily routines
But is no less mindfully alive
Cast images onto the fog itself
Until you've seen the many dreams which you've procured for yourself
In this cloudy life
Breathe with the forgetfulness of evey waking step
As you amble through these miles set
With jawline firm and eyeline slight
Smile at the passing sight of another universe in tow
Which ambles by and out of view
As your inward story comes alive
And live not in line with every Crow on any high wire
But fly as if there were no tomorrow in your quiet sigh
Upwards and towards the sky
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC
I stared catatonic nonstop and could not pull my eyes away or scream
except for the great internal scream and I felt like death was upon me, or nearly so.
And my body asleep but my mind twisted and my eyes awake wide-open
and no dream this was but real things and then my thoughts put outward
and all these things terrible formed into death-shadows
and flowed down through the fabrics above my head.
Flesh undulating in darkness that creeped
and I found ten seconds of courage to sit up and stare
at the wall as the rippling fabric became a thousand black snakes
crawling down from the ceiling and out from my dreamcatcher
that did nothing at all but release these terrors from the wall.
And I thought it was sordid wind that came in gusting through my window that made my sheets become like a mechanical sea
but it was not so, and these vile snakes poured out like *****
from some gaping maw above and went underneath my bed
and all through the floor to the four corners of my room
and then came together again above on the center of my ceiling
and murmured death-talk and horror-faces from the walls and ceiling
and even closing my eyes would bring nothing but flashes
of demonic children and things with no jaws or eyes
hollowed out and terrible ghosts I procured and almost choked out laughter because this was it and I've finally gone and gone mad
There was a man at my closed door wearing my jacket that hung on a hook
and his face was the face of a skull that hung above my door
and from the corner of my eye the man with the door on his back with the coat still attached walked with silent step toward my bed, and I turned to look at this figure
and instead of snapping back against the wall like all nightly visions should;
he stood there, and as I stared at him I saw slow moving black legs receding against the wall
but the horrors of his feet were ten thousand worm bodies and black leathery fingers of bats and crawling things
and my carpet floor was no longer static but a creeping madness,
and my body trembled as if it were being continuously dropped
from heights a hundred times over and great odious black
pillars and monoliths slid steadily up the corners of my room with arms
that then burst out to the middle into nothing but a smiling cheshire grin
and I could not move anymore and just stared until my mind went numb
and like the first sunlight upon the last fog before dawn, I awoke.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
-Audience!
Prepare for the magic act
*Hypnotically launching attacks
upon the helpless masses*
Won't pull a rabbit from a hat,
Rather false-flaggish gaffs
Practically exposed to radioactive madness
*(Feel the hurt disappear like doves
Gloriously soaring out your ***
Hijack these hijinks
Whilst laughing maniacally
Tornado alley to the trailer-park mentality
I call this a helluva brainstorm,
High-velocity lethality
Compose yourselves
Are your brain-stems intact?
-Okay. Now
*f
o
l
l
o
w
the swing
of
my pendulous
p e n m a n s h i p
Drearily drift into dreamy trance,
While I attempt
to initialize a feat
of mass hypnotization
Enchantingly dip
into deep illusory corridors
of thoughts limitless*
(Pay no attention
to any slippage,
Mental or otherwise
It's already dripping out your ears
& the seat of your pants)
Real ****
no gimmicks!
Abracadabra
Propaganda
Extravaganza
Gaze into my crystal ball
Mouths agape in awe
While I slay and lay waste
indiscriminate to the faceless plague
Come one, come all!
Phantom sorcerer I am, conjuring
unfathomable horrors
To the collective mind
procured through sleight-of-hand
Voila!
Still with us?
Alright, hold your breath
until you finally wake up
And illuminate the bogus
Hocus pocus front
♠ ♥ ♣ ♦
Shuffle the deck,
Reset Earth's debts
In a fabulous show
of m i s d i r e c t i o n
♠ ♥ ♣ ♦
Now, Ladies & Gents!
For my final performance
With this rope,
Suspended from the throat
I am going to bulls-eye myself
In the frontal lobe
Dead-center
In front of all you people
With this
.40 caliber desert eagle!
Graciously donated by our very own NWO
(applause)
This one's sure to be mind-blowing folks.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC
“into the women-coloured twilight”
from Post Impressions (VI) by E. E. *******
*there is a woman here who seeded in a ‘darling,’
awhile ago, thinking it passed unnoticed
but wax polished and jewelry bag separate kept
placed in a soft Etsy silken purse
suitable for holding precious iou’s,
vision her in the fields picking up the fragrance
of bulbs from soil, now scented upon a working woman's gloves,
arrival timed, in the woman-colored twilight of e.e.’s woman,
knowing she will be both prepared and unprepared,
perhaps for my recital, certainly, my comings unexpected*
she knows I come with no singularity or multi-purpose,
except to complete this poem with proper decorum,
decorum properly undefined, but how many fictitious poems
scribbled in between the living days, in plastic bags to keep,
till a grounded definition is someday procured
April 2019
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 7:47 PM UTC
She searched for PERFECTION, so she's ALONE
Expected beautiful stories, so the pages are BLANK
LOVED the fluttering stars, sold her sleep
PROCURED trust but auctioned her FREEDOM...
Jul 4, 2023
Jul 4, 2023 at 12:57 PM UTC
*A benevolent device procured to
provoke an enigmatic action relevant
to escaping once benighted reality*.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 4:09 AM UTC
“RENDEZVOUS SONNET”
“The long day wanes the slow moon climbs,
My pale enclave inspires me to write,
That of our midnight love rendezvous,
As well as awful dreams of life’s hardships,
All can be forgotten of travesty’s that followed,
As I easily compare you to a light of stardust,
Traipse of her breaching my mind of that day,
Thinking of your prompt nobility fills my days.
My love for you is the dedicated anamnesis,
Our heated times of past frolics of seasons,
Our summertime on the immense sleepy hollows,
The sounding furrows for my purpose holds
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down,
The prudence labor loving procured slowly,
Whisking your rugged ways and thro's endings,
Subdued only to thro’s closure of laudability,
Ode to my rendezvous sonnet”
By Andrew Guzaldo 08/14/2018 ©
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 3:41 PM UTC
The new-born child of gospel grace,
Like some fair tree when summer's nigh,
Beneath Emmanuel's shining face
Lifts up his blooming branch on high.
No fears he feels, he sees no foes,
No conflict yet his faith employs,
Nor has he learnt to whom he owes
The strength and peace his soul enjoys.
But sin soon darts its cruel sting,
And comforts sinking day by day,
What seem'd his own, a self-fed spring,
Proves but a brook that glides away.
When Gideon arm'd his numerous host,
The Lord soon made his numbers less;
And said, "Lest Israel vainly boast,
My arm procured me this success!"
Thus will He bring our spirits down,
And draw our ebbing comforts low,
That saved by grace, but not our own,
We may not claim the praise we owe.
1.6k
You need sunglasses when your staring at me
Cause the light I emanate scars the retina of my enemies
There is no cure for the blindness you will endure
A pain perpetuated by the ignorance so perniciously procured
Squared against an inevitable death I easily steal your breath from the barrel of my Smith and Wess
Watching your hollow tears bleed on the canvas I project
a cataclysmic disaster wrapped up in a dismal death
We sit here at the pinnacle of our lives speaking in shadows
Masking our mouths from what we oblige
Stop and listen to the earth as it decries
The subtle architecture of this worldly demise
So as we kick back and sorely reside
I’ll be the change in the coming tide
Caged inside tortured flesh I search for rest to keep the human condition suppressed
But all I find each time that I design a new quest I become a servant of death
Invigorated by the test I stretch my consciousness to tear the limbs off your chest and beat you senseless
I won’t stop there, I’ll slit the throat leaving you without hope and then drown it in Everclear
While I may seem like a cynic
I’m not through with these gimmicks
Lacerating your heart with the bones I striped from your tendons
I’m not an advocate of violence but
Sometimes the pilot of peace needs to be reached by setting loose the destruction we inherently seek
We sit here at the pinnacle of our lives speaking in shadows
Masking our mouths from what we oblige
Stop and listen to the earth as it decries
The subtle architecture of this worldly demise
And I’ll hide my words with silence
And I’ll no longer become violent
Just another subservient machine lost in a sea of tyrants
I won’t be blunt here I’ll keep dropping metaphorical bombs onto your ears
Until all my peers understand the imminent plan that needs to be adhered:
Stop short cause change is impossible to purport
Don’t dream cause it’ll get shattered with a corporate hammer
Stay sinking in a world that raises a stagnant banner
Assimilate with the overzealous overweight materialism that manifests in the minds of the poor and is perpetuated by strip malls and ******
Mar 20, 2010
Mar 20, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
Now I know I've lost my mind
I've gone back to what I left behind
Forgot the progress that I procured
Let myself slip into a state unsure
I let the universe collapse again
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
The most vile of all poisons
More potent than any snakes venom
Deadlier than all spider's saliva on earth
Worse than any brew procured from any apothecary
This most sweet of all delicacies
Makes men dose themselves 100 times
With the most lethal of all drugs
Leaving only destruction and mayhem in its wake
Though tolerable, and even so far as beneficial, in moderation
Seldom if ever does it stay that way for long
Like a rock rolling downhill
The speed of drinking speeds up til no one can stop it
Causing pain and suffering, not only for the abuser
But anyone near the blast zone
Moderation is the key to all things
And this toxic concoction is certainly no exception
Keep an eye on yourself, and don't be dumb
Don't drink more than from pinky to thumb
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 8:06 PM UTC
Go now!
Spiteful conveyer
For your close counsel is false and needless
Don't call to discuss your woes and infidelity
Or use others to shield your sworded encounters
No affirmation of friendship is ever trustworthy
As swathed thy black soul is with treachery
Chased away, no drove away happiness between others With bitter contempt and yet brazen still thy protest, yet they called you friend.
Friend! How that was mocked
For they had nothing, save one thing you could not buy,
only love
Yet you clouded a heart that needed help
Drove it to darkness and despair
Was it a fantasy of what was never yours that procured a lie
Or was it simply jealousy?
The man who did not desire you?
Why not he simply must!
The man who asked nothing only friendship
Desired nothing of you nor wanted of you.
Yet you destroyed what warmth he found with another
Thou shalt not covet!
Yet you did.
Oh but he kissed her so tenderly
He kissed her !
Not you
He spoke of her
Held her
Loved her
Not you
It was all about you
But
Was never you
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC
#Anonymous (1730s ?)
In good King Charles's golden days,
When Loyalty no harm meant;
A Furious High-Church man I was,
And so I gain'd Preferment.
Unto my Flock I daily Preached,
Kings are by God appointed,
And Damn'd are those who dare resist,
Or touch the Lord's Anointed.
***And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my Dying Day, Sir.
That whatsoever King may reign,
I shall be Vicar of Bray, Sir!***
When Royal James possessed the crown,
And popery grew in fashion;
The Penal Law I hooted down,
And read the Declaration:
The Church of Rome I found would fit
Full well my Constitution,
And I had been a Jesuit,
But for the Revolution.
And this is Law, &c.
When William our Deliverer came,
To heal the Nation's Grievance,
I turned the Cat in Pan again,
And swore to him Allegiance:
Old Principles I did revoke,
Set conscience at a distance,
Passive Obedience is a Joke,
A Jest is non-resistance.
And this is Law, &c.;
When Royal Ann became our Queen,
Then Church of England's Glory,
Another face of things was seen,
And I became a Tory:
Occasional Conformists base
I Damn'd, and Moderation,
And thought the Church in danger was,
From such Prevarication.
And this is Law, &c.;
When George in Pudding time came o'er,
And Moderate Men looked big, Sir,
My Principles I changed once more,
And so became a Whig, Sir.
And thus Preferment I procured,
From our Faith's great Defender,
And almost every day abjur'd
The Pope, and the Pretender.
And this is Law, &c.;
The Illustrious House of Hanover,
And Protestant succession,
To these I lustily will swear,
Whilst they can keep possession:
For in my Faith, and Loyalty,
I never once will falter,
But George, my lawful king shall be,
Except the Times should alter.
And this is Law, &c;.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 11:06 PM UTC
933
Two Travellers perishing in Snow
The Forests as they froze
Together heard them strengthening
Each other with the words
That Heaven if Heaven—must contain
What Either left behind
And then the cheer too solemn grew
For language, and the wind
Long steps across the features took
That Love had touched the Morn
With reverential Hyacinth—
The taleless Days went on
Till Mystery impatient drew
And those They left behind
Led absent, were procured of Heaven
As Those first furnished, said—
1.4k
Good evening to all, I shall be your host
So won't you all raise your glass's please
A tribute like this, requires a proper toast
So take this one moment in time and freeze
For on this eve we shall honor all the ghosts
Who have epiphanied us all to our knees
So no matter who you may love the most
Let the collective works remind us to seize
The day, started out different, I'm not a morning person by any means
But this morning I awoke, with clear thoughts and vivid dream scenes
It was as if my body was merely a vessel
and my mind was possessed
But instead of my soul fighting to wrestle
It conceded, for I was blessed
A voice spoke to me for all of humanity
And warned that the words that I will channel
May have people questioning my sanity
Convicted by a psychoanalytic jury and panel
I was sound asleep when a voice awoke me from my bed
A whisper "Listen closely to me", the first ghost softly said
"There is absolutely no reason to sleep, after you are dead
So please share the words that I place in your head" he pled
Young man, rest is assured, allow me set the presage
After words are procured and you send my message
You will slumber so peacefully knowing these deeds
Shall contribute to billions of thought provoking seeds"
I said "let me sleep on it", for it was a very long day that I had endured
But I must admit, the concept of immortality absolutely had me lured
He said, "Just remember words are meaningless once you leave earth
Goodnight sir, and by the way, my name is William, for what it's worth
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
When ships set sail, their masts held high
Daunting flags, painting the sky
With rails gold rimmed
And sails sharp trimmed
A crowd appears, waving adieu, goodbye
Thunderous roar, unequaled praise
Wind catching sheets
Anchors raised
A bell rings softly and waves do lap
Against the hull of a wooden throne
From far off shores this scene is spied
With two friends of oars we've always tried
To reach for that deck
In fervent eye
Climb on board or surely die
Tattered clothes, sailors cap
Smudge on cheek
Shirt of burlap
We push off deck
Yet crowd is gone
A journey ventured with bright sun dawned
Water ripples with our wake
Small and steady pulses we make
Though we row to catch schooner bold
As we creak of wooden old
Land gestures for us to stay
Why venture out on choppy bay?
Whispers roll and caustic laugh
With sun beat oars a line is set
No motive sweeter, nor regret
Sweat beads mix with salty froth
Cutting across the water green
Battleship chugs with billowed steam
A voice escapes you as you scream
Sputtering away, with muted cries
And oars but stop
Far from home
As head does drop
Splintered hull tears apart
We're left to cling to shattered planks
And fight to stay afloat
Alone
With far off yacht a speck
Atone for water slapping neck
We groan with defeated boat and deck
Driftwood in salty surf
Connecting with shore
We walk back to land
Imprints swallowed by golden sand
A new rowboat to be procured
Again we build to flag down our Brig
And stand upon its polished bow
We persist to where we are but now
As we strive to grasp victory bell
We strive ever onward
To sail with our destined
Caravelle
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 9:36 AM UTC
Sometimes I feel so gloomy,
Got a brand new bag of shroomies
And now my blues are through
There’s one last thing to do….
Trip out (trip out) Let’s go for a walk
Trip out (trip out) I wanna smoke some ***
Trip out (trip out) I'm tripping out man!
Tra lala lalalay (doo dadoo dadoo doo)
Sometimes I feel so bored,
I want to live like Harrison Ford
I procured some L.S.D.
I watch you paint those happy trees…
Trip out (Bob Ross) Let’s go for a walk
Trip out (Bob Ross) I wanna smoke some ***
Trip out (Bob Ross) Trippin' out to Bob Ross
Tra lala lalalay (doo dadoo dadoo doo)
Bob Ross….(We love you)
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 1:38 PM UTC
subtlety is not a trait I possess well, when I mention
late night texts and infatuation here and there I mean you,
the problem is that I've been here before and I've
fallen too fast.
the problem is that I build these walls that cave in
quickly and resolutely;
I am a dreamer of romance and like
procured fat bouquets of sunflowers unexpected,
quilts, meaningful embraces where the whole world
drops right out of your stomach.
I worry myself because this heart is so brittle; it's known
to have been dropped a time before;
I'm sick of sweeping up slivers of organs like glass,
always laying everything that means anything out on the table for people to poke around in like
I am some kind of mystifying tag sale.
even though things seem different this time,
they don't, really,
anxious wrists and fingers that don't
hold pencils very tightly,
hugging sweaters and the memory of a
quite lovely monday night
and some really awful ones time and time before.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 6:24 AM UTC
burning pages.
epiphanies procured through the pages of a book.
let's burn the already ones read.
i doubt the meaning of life is within the confines of the downed pink capsules.
the hollow shell of a human form.
i keep validating it. chemical communication has every place here.
the warm. hands clickity clackety against the keys. because they are home.
furiously scribbling is the one organic anecdote.
throwing a verse down is much preferred to THROWING DOWN. which is what human nature gives on the tendency to fantasize about.
let's not quabble over semantics here. (and let's not mention fantasy).
i'll check for justification in the mirror image of my face in the bottom of the carrot-stick bag.
no such luck, the soul ain't there either.
WANT TO VERBALLY SPAR, BABY?
i don't think you, nor i have the ability. (actually i do, it's more your well-being i'm concerned about)
erstwhile you sit and wait for the first attack, you should think into purchasing some pantene.
2.99 at walgreene's.
i've forgotten what i've started for. so let's not quabble over semantics here.
the death of white roses are never wept over. it's expected.
(maybe a vase in the corner is quite befitting of the lovely token of hopelessness)
it's like a catch-22, it's like fighting a losing battle.it's winning something like a full paid scholarship to plumber school, or finding out your best friend is a **** on christmas mourning.
merry christmas.
one should be cautious in stealing public property. the owner hadn't left it out for the recycling. you should have read the label.
and you:
i'm done.
Mar 14, 2011
Mar 14, 2011 at 7:16 PM UTC
Bones decayed
Muscle & skin flayed
Near decade long agony endured
Endless wait for no remedy procured
Persons laugh and gibe
Hellions unable to repent or apologize
Lovers leave or never give a chance
"Meeting you was an unfortunate circumstance"
21 years of life lived
Nothing but difficult and destructive
Dec 27, 2021
Dec 27, 2021 at 5:02 AM UTC