"retch" poems
Pure? What does it mean?
The tongues of hell
Are dull, dull as the triple
Tongues of dull, fat Cerebus
Who wheezes at the gate. Incapable
Of licking clean
The aguey tendon, the sin, the sin.
The tinder cries.
The indelible smell
Of a snuffed candle!
Love, love, the low smokes roll
From me like Isadora's scarves, I'm in a fright
One scarf will catch and anchor in the wheel.
Such yellow sullen smokes
Make their own element. They will not rise,
But trundle round the globe
Choking the aged and the meek,
The weak
Hothouse baby in its crib,
The ghastly orchid
Hanging its hanging garden in the air,
Devilish leopard!
Radiation turned it white
And killed it in an hour.
Greasing the bodies of adulterers
Like Hiroshima ash and eating in.
The sin. The sin.
Darling, all night
I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.
The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.
Three days. Three nights.
Lemon water, chicken
Water, water make me retch.
I am too pure for you or anyone.
Your body
Hurts me as the world hurts God. I am a lantern ----
My head a moon
Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin
Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive.
Does not my heat astound you. And my light.
All by myself I am a huge camellia
Glowing and coming and going, flush on flush.
I think I am going up,
I think I may rise ----
The beads of hot metal fly, and I, love, I
Am a pure acetylene
******
Attended by roses,
By kisses, by cherubim,
By whatever these pink things mean.
Not you, nor him.
Not him, nor him
(My selves dissolving, old ***** petticoats) ----
To Paradise.
11k
Let me tell you about something I saw the other day,
when I was out walking through a field of hay.
The night was quite pretty, the air crisp and clear,
when I suddenly encountered a cat who was drinking a beer!
I walked a little farther and encountered some mice,
sitting around a card table, all playing dice.
The mice looked quite serious, they all dressed like thugs,
I was dumbfounded, and simply stared down from above.
Then I saw something that completely blew my mind,
it was a variety of animals, dancing in a conga line.
For hours and hours and hours they danced,
more animals joined in, even deer came to prance.
This party was larger than any I’d seen,
a couple of badgers were even smoking something green.
“Innocent” deer were snorting lines off of snakes,
and a couple drunk farm dogs were fighting with rakes.
A cat and a mouse were sitting in a barn,
entirely too drunk, they took turn telling yarns.
From across the field, you could hear an owl retch,
while a gaggle of geese slurred “Benny and the Jets.”
Sheep laughed, “Bahaha!” while dancing on tables,
the horses were getting it on in the stables.
This party was crazier than any I’d attended,
a pig even ended up losing an appendage.
As the sun came up, things started winding down,
all the cows went home, and the "Keg King" took off his crown.
I took this as my cue, it was time to depart,
so a couple mice and I hitched a ride on a farmer’s cart.
"Sayonara!" I yelled, "It's been lots of fun!
Everybody get home safe, try not to hurt anyone!"
But enough about me, let's talk about you.
That was my weekend, what did you do?
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 11:55 PM UTC
These are the hard times,
the long stretch of coal-shed days,
the corrugated nights of the antinomian.
I retch at the old doubts and the panoply
of dustbins clattering bright,
their watchers simian in the morning ****
I dress as though dredging up greys,
monotone deep in the GB tradition:
now sandpit tea with oil stain floats
silt dreads the mass of a seven year clay.
Four weeks of shadows drown wind in a storm.
And dreams of my cottage
in days of such calm and late summer happiness
as brought cut corn and strawbs
and horse manure in hugs
until like Zulu tribesmen the birds appeared.
Hunched with expectation
Spears smiling like baddies they rushed me.
I woke pouring sweat like a workhorse
the weakest of defences laid up
my face pulling cellophane over French windows.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 2:07 PM UTC
The rainy season is at
The door once again,
And loneliness has
Brought me a new pillow,
But who is to defend
My repugnant soul?
Can it be the Gods?
Hear this! The rain has
Began knocking at my
Slammer door gradually,
Oh no, it is knocking
And wailing so heavily,
With his icy voice
Of storm and cold
Arresting my hearty dreams,
But I will retch at his smell
And hurry for my handkerchief,
Where is my lantern?
May be, the native doctor
Has the answer to the
Cylindrical jar containing
Her eternal juniper organs,
Indeed, it is my misfortune
To go about with the priest,
For even the child of
The priest even dies at noon,
Ah, I thought she was
Vigilant and ever-ready
To make the debtors
Chew the palm kernels,
But she became the
Portion of the exterior of
The *** that skin can cover,
I have lost my heaven,
Oh no, I have lost the
One whose neck is like a
Bunch of small-fingered plantain,
I have lost the whetstone
On which I sharpen
My thirsty sword to
Perform deeds of valour,
Let the Gods weep!
Let the ancestors wail!
Let the people of Africa,
Give me condolence of
The talking drums,
For their child is gone,
The wise woman who cut
Her thumb in order to get
A wise husband is dead,
Mother, the Okro full of
Seeds of children and literature,
Efua Sutherland, the queen,
The toad likes water, but not
When the water is boiling,
Send me something
When someone is coming,
Efua Sutherland, the queen,
You and I exchange gift.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 5:58 AM UTC
America, rollin’ its dice,
hurlin’ ‘nades on the ice.
what're we lookin’ for?
***** we huntin’ for?
whether it’s a score to settle
or another lie to peddle
where do we go from here?
how ‘bout that future we held dear?
gone, done, buried, shunned.
eat crow, ***** retch, and—
run?
don’t run. can’t run.
these colors don’t run, I’ve heard.
though maybe they flow against
each other like water and
oil in a grating chemical fash-
ion that can’t be calculated
or be sufficiently integrated
like we dreamed they would.
and dream we do, for America
and her future, or so I hope,
given that each year that passes
leaves bruises and gashes
in that fabric, so fragile, I hear.
sad, wrong, and crooked;
Trump’s America.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 5:34 AM UTC
Bag-drop. Check-in.
Hyphenated. Two syllables.
Security. A fat Scottish man,
A gentle caress of the inner thigh.
I retch violently.
Boarding, disembarking.
All I want in life is the back door.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
under the sludge of this depression, I am awake. it’s morning outside but that doesn’t change a thing.
tiredness takes me to quiet places. I follow like I’m devout.
this forest is new. there’s a drumming of a heartbeat within the trunks of these trees.
it thrums under my fingertips. blood rushes forward to touch this rhythm.
songbirds nest, plume against plume for love and for rest. the birdsong is sweet as saccharine.
I taste the sap on my lips, its nectar, thick with agape. a salve for myriad laments under the roof of a single bell jar.
the indigo sky convulses, telling of fortunes. the clouds retch gilded roses.
blades of grass fence the circumferences of leaves in gypsy winds. the forest warms like a flame.
my body sways in solipsistic wonder. the crescents of my nails are crusted with lichen.
my limbs are drawn into its boughs, like gravity. like the bark is starved.
my mind is foliage and my crown is littered with inflorescence. my sky is finally cerulean and lilac.
each gall is an ancient hurt. each wound is a knot.
I breathe my mourning. I wait to bloom.
Apr 24, 2020
Apr 24, 2020 at 3:07 AM UTC
i am
a sinner.
my insides tainted, my sweet pink heart
is stained a dark deep brown.
my lips beg for more.
more of the sweet taste,
just a bit more of Heaven.
my brain shouts
"no!
not a single bite more of the wretched sin!"
my tongue tastes sour
my stomach lurches and up come my sins,
reflected in the concerned ripples
deep in your ocean-blue eyes.
the words sour, i retch and fall
lifeless
into your arms.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
Once, I was excluded from love,
in bitterness I cursed all that I saw,
not knowing that this bitterness made me anathema
to the very sensations I pursued.
I spread hateful ideology,
made every effort to share my misery,
shouted condemnation at every pair of clasped hands,
every kiss I saw made me retch.
The bitterness welled up
and poured forth from me,
reppelling loves valiant attempts
at liberating me from my tower cell.
From my relatively pleasant existance
I fashioned my own tailor fitted hell,
which I wore everyday, steadily collecting filth,
so soiled I had become.
As I lifted the last shovelful from my early grave,
and prepared to climb down within
with my list of grievances against God
stapled to my shirt, so I might never forget,
my foot stepped out into the pit
but a gentle hand clenched my shoulder
and pulled me back from the hole,
and I turned and discovered love...
It does exist,
none need be excluded, if the feeling exists for some
all can be included.
Love not for the pleasure of it,
but for the pain, and strain,
so that we may constantly measure it against the ache of loneliness
and remind ourselves, that while love may be a neverending battle,
surrender to hate brings nothing but ruin.
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 11:28 AM UTC
I’m friends with this girl named Ana, I started to eat less.
Hating the person in the mirror, my life has become a mess.
My best friend is named Ana, she always talks to me,
She tells me to skip meals, maybe two or three?
Ana is the one I listen to, she’s smart and full of advice.
I’m starting to get smaller, my health is the sacrifice.
Mia is my friend too, she pushes me around.
The food has become the enemy and I couldn’t lose a pound.
I’m scared of this girl Ana, I can’t get her out of my head.
It finally occurred to me, that Ana wants me dead.
Mia hurts me too, she makes me want to purge
Buying lots of binge food, I cannot stop the urge.
She even hurts my throat, it burns with every retch.
She even makes me exercise, it hurts when I stretch.
I hate Ana and Mia, they make my life a hell.
Someone please hear my silent screams because she won’t let me tell.
I’m a prisoner of Ana, I’m captive to her will.
I’m doing everything she tells, how can I be fat still?
My murderer is Ana, she starved me to the grave.
My heart finally stopped beating, I failed to be brave.
If you want a happy ending, this story’s not for you
Ana and Mia are silent killers and they’ll even **** you too.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 1:28 PM UTC
T'was little fun
T'was a little town,
No virulent delirious runs
No irking sounds
As t'was a little dangling town
All t'was a feasible brew
No meanders to sought
No conundrums of anew
just wired timely things to rot
When all t'was a portent upcoming
For t'was clad and veneered
In a amicable sun-daze groaning
T'was a peaceful loop of mono-gradient seasons
and all to do was ponder
For t'was guzzled with reasons
T'was yesterdays jigsaw puzzle
T'was a nightmare in sun-light
But for now, let's retch our unknown dazzle
As t'was,
A flippant fuss
For what shan't be
A beguiling me
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 5:21 AM UTC
Notes on a IPad. A rejected lover’s lament.
What she says and in parentheses (What she thinks)
Oh please tell me,
What will I do now that
You have gone away,
Three days now it’s been,
Lost to me forever,
(And took my wristwatch?
Will I ever know,
the correct time again?)
I gave you everything,
And you crushed me!
(No I mean it, the other night
When you rolled over in bed
You actually friggin’ crushed me.)
Our lips are empty now,
Of each other’s kiss,
Like our odorous love,
our bed sheets grow stale,
(‘cause you didn’t put them
in the machine, like I told you,
Before you walked out the door!)
Life can never be the same,
Oh, to end my terminal misery.
(I’m thinking that notion over.
Maybe this is a positive thing,
My parents warned that he was,
not good enough for me).
I walked alone, along the lake today,
You know, the place we met,
(All those **** Ducks around there,
really make a mess. Got that goo
all over my shoe,)
But I digress.
You are gone now,
My loving arms are empty,
Of your sweet scent,
(Of the Brute Cologne,
I bought you for Christmas
You ungrateful Retch!)
My blurry eyes they do,
so sorrowfully weep,
(From all the pollen in the street,
God, I hate spring time for that!)
We were going to buy a cute,
Little yellow house together,
You vowed to love me forever,
**** Now I’ll have to renew my
Apartment lease, and get a roommate)
(You PIG, did you ever in your life,
Put up a toilet seat?)
You left when you said,
That you never would,
(And just what the hell,
did you do, with my car keys,
I ‘ve looked all over the place)
Truly my broken heart,
My stomach aches
and pines for you,
All Love has flown,
Oh,what will, what can I do?
(Hm’ I wonder if McDonalds has
McRibs back on their menu?)
Ring! Ring! The cell phone beckons.
“Yes, hello. . . Oh it’s you.
(You Son Of a *****
What’s that you say?
You’re coming home to me?
Darling, that’s so great to hear!
Want to meet down at McDonalds
I think they got McRibs!”
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
Worry is a scurvy rat
It is a man's main bane
It chews on your self esteem
It nibbles at your brain
It will take your precious time
Your energies will claim
It will hobble your very life
It will make you lame
You may try to capture it
But that is all in vain
Doubt is like a cancer
It eats at your bones
It takes breath from your very lungs
It turns your mind to stone
It makes you feel incomplete
It makes you weep and moan
Under it's all-nagging pain
You will retch and groan
It is resistant to all cures
And you cannot atone
Fear is like a little death
It turns the heart to straw
It strikes like a rattlesnake
With poison in its maw
It's like a fascist dictator
Who makes the harshest laws
It can take your greatest strength
Make it pernicious flaw
Like a sadistic doctor
With a large chainsaw!
How can a person battle
Worry, Doubt and Fear?
How can our lives get better?
How can we have cheer?
Jack Daniels has no answer
It's not Budweiser beer...
It may be elusive
At first just like a wraith
But once you have a hold on it
*The answer is our FAITH.*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/27/2016
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 4:42 PM UTC
i) up the stairs
red scarves and tight skirts
loose slacks and grey shirts
my how the landscape has changed
I can’t say that I love to be dipped into this *** of pretty
where the lipstick liner queens supreme
and the coffee is brewed to mitigate the colostomy retch
so I try a yellowed paper backed beat
but it held nothing to the shoebox diorama
of national care
where the alphabetised gates of ingress
more or less double as departure lounge
for the broken and spent where their god
might sit them on fashionably backed chairs
for the percentile of misplace repairs
or is it me that smells of warm ****
ii) down the travelator
a troll lives under the MRI,
moved on from the bridge by the gruffest of beards,
now working externally of the fable
beneath the table of the magnetic eye
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
some smells
make you retch
a rotten egg
for instance
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
I was born to please the glitteratti
Treat them like they’re gods right here on earth.
Whether a Kardashian or Gotti
They think I’ doomed to serve them since my birth.
I’m meant to feed you, bathe you
Live my life just for you.
I’ve got to primp you, **** you
Wipe your royal ****
And if I move too slow
You’ll call me ****
I’m so benighted
And I’ve not denied it.
I was born without a soul
And I know I’m lost now.
My life is blighted
And very much misguided.
Somewhere inside
There is a soul who really
Should know how.
I thought I could gut it out forever
But I found I could only take so much.
Putting up with daily kissing *****
Made me want to retch from every touch.
You are disgusting, thrusting
Your face in everywhere.
Like you are something; you’re nothing,
Got nothing to share!
I no longer care.
I’m not divided
And I just can’t hide it.
I want a life and I intend
To go and get one
A real one.
So get excited.
I have decided
To grow a pair and do
What I know I ought to.
Got to!
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
Drum and bass - the engine revs,
Tyres grind and squelch into the hardpan.
The cab rises with a squall of angry breath,
Lurches forward with a shudder.
Wrought iron gates heaved shut
Hinges squeal like a pig, they are a pig.
Slamming metal resonates
In secure embrace.
Ugly black rubber stains the concrete -
Mascara on a cheap *****
If the rumbling cages are food for the beast
Then I am stood in its bowels.
The sour smell of rotting food
Mixed with washing powder and bleach pollute.
Greasy plastic, rancid fat
Makes me recoil and retch.
In a gap in the tar she grows.
Raising her head to the sun in oblivious defiance
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 11:19 AM UTC
When my mind is at rest I think of peace and blissful things
I see the unfettered and innocent smile of a new babe in arms
Or the Omnipotence gilded arms outstretch showering blessings
The shores of a pristine beach with blue waves marking times
Silver sunset sprinkling magic across quiet waters with no stressing
Or me sat at my fathers feet as he reads engrossed in his charmes
My mind rests easy in places of warmth and enriching lovings
My mind has no space to linger in the murkiness of failings
I do not plunge dark dept to court the uninspiring s in terms
To share company with wretches with wasted mental ecthings
Eyes that see dew in darkness and acrimony in fruitless farms
Voices made for howling dirges and apostles of negative cravings
Demented downers who drink from the fountains of fallen vamps
Satiated miserably they seek to retch their stench on followings
My mind finds the luminous stars and praise their spark-lings
It atunes to the silent melodies of sages who now sleep uncramp
It relishes the delights of the million trillion wonders tinklings
Its marvels the joys of the thousand mothers holding new champs
Can share the lifting dreams of hopes for happy new beginnings
Living is never about waste for the Creator avails no dumps
For a mind that lives and grows in the Light is forever inspired and inspiring
Copyright LaurencA.1stAugust2018.All rights reserved
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 7:54 PM UTC
Every meal is hard to swallow
With you present at the table
My stomach rumbles
Yes, in pain
The swifty of my ways
I absolutely hate eating with you
Yearn to I do, retch
The unpleasant time
In which should be my fathers
My hero, NO MATTER WHAT
You take his place at the table
But never, will you EVER have a place in my heart
Ruined it you have for yourself
Many not once a time
including grandmother, has she despised you.
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 7:38 PM UTC
You’re so wonderful, you make me hate myself.
You’re so delightful, you make me cringe and groan.
You’re so marvelous, you make me furious.
You’re so generous, you make me want to die.
I see your smiling face, and frown.
I hear your kindly voice, and cry.
I touch your perfect skin, and sigh.
I watch your refined mien, and retch.
I think myself a good person,
A Decent, Hard-Working fellow.
But whenever I see you,
I only think of myself akin to a wretched rat.
Fit to fight for bits of trash in a rotten dumpster,
And Nothing more.
Why must you be so excellent?
Why must you be so lovely?
Why must your light shine like diamonds?
Why must my heart be clouded with darkness?
And why must you make me feel so ugly inside?
It’s not your fault, not at all.
But you do this to me, you know.
You tear me to bits, doing nothing at all.
Part of me wishes to love you, head to toe.
The other wants to hate your guts, all and all.
I know not what to do about you.
If there is anything to do.
Should I bare my heart, and tell-all?
Or should I hold it inside, and grin through clenched teeth?
I can’t say.
But I do know this one fact.
You are the essence of peerless perfection, and that is why
I will never be as good as you, no matter how I try.
And so I am left to do little but burn inside your light.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC
Poets make lousy friends because eventually they’ll skewer you with their poison pen; their insulting writ of relentless invective and opprobrious apoplectic venom. The naked foist of un-allayed aggression as art-form whereby the vitriol of familiarity slices like a knife and digs in like a dagger. The very nature of chumminess turns adversarial. Like acid in the eyes the sneering contemptible retch could cobble out words with a disgustingly exquisite though execrable precision. A quirk, an idiosyncrasy, a malevolent adherence so committed to unmitigated truth that it is as a fist to the face, a shocking starkness of incivility justified by a requisite expedience hastened by the anxious need to blow one off forthwith. He was a veritable torrent of abject invectives.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
my eyes are heady **** bloating
from within the sun
white embellishment lasers out
lending provision
setting life to the organic cog and clock
provoking muted growth to retch a bloom
leading
spending
seeding
my tread destroys nothing
each step frictionless
patterning little hovering eddies
a fraction above ground
minimal is my disruption
enough only to promote a deeper observation
tender fanning of the life that i am fawning over
how to feel this spritely at all times ? t'would be a spell
a fondled thing
it’s from our night of shared tether
our infection threw out an extra pleasurable souvenir
it carried its energy into the ensuing day
i am launched affection
beckoned into the true employment of my surroundings
carrying my socks and shoes in one hand
and my heart? it is a possession of the senses
i am truly led
i am emitting
Nov 4, 2022
Nov 4, 2022 at 9:44 PM UTC
When you hear stalls emanating sobs
In cracked, ***** bathrooms, in between jobs
Drunk, gritting his teeth and getting buttfucked
By black men, grunting, as you stand dumbstruck,
Do you wonder how a man could be so down on his luck?
In a truck-stop graffiti-tiled bathroom in his white frock,
Trying to ignore the incessant crow of the ****
Gagging between unforgiving ticks from the clock.
Sipping on beer, the **** bleeds from the cell
Spreading dollar bills over the ghost where he fell.
Pale-white, scraggly, he bends down for his cash
Using mental math to make the conversion from bills to crack.
Rope still dangling between his teeth, he drops the syringe,
Dragging a cigarette and counting his next binge.
Do you wonder if on the way to help, he just lost
His way? But he looks up to ask "the **** you want?
Are you throwing out an ad hominum argument?
Slipping into something like aluminum garments.
Throw me face down into the edge of a tar pit,
What are friends for?"
Kaysea, turn back, you don't want to touch it
Your lungs will turn black and your soul will be rusted
Over by doubt, self-deprecation and shame
You'll realize everyone else is exactly the same
Only you've changed. You don't need the shot
Lie sprawled, get sick naked in one spot (and rot)
Lest we forget the chains of superstitious fear,
The two of us would be lending bleeding ears.
Gotta wait for the grenadier to return
With the test results
What have we learned?
Gotta find the truth from within the turntables
What have you earned?
Misery loves company, and this is your catch.
You desire the freedom of looking at mirrors to retch
But it's not lucidity (you'll forget that a lot),
Just impulses revealing that which is not.
Your father'd die twice if that was your insight.
Do we all have the right to be in hell for a night?
There is a never ending layer of nicotine in my throat
And nostril scabs, and that's all she wrote, I hope.
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 1:38 PM UTC
And at him She
can't get up *****
***** She won't get
Down roundest town
She got snow seek ritz.
Not in ease et al.
Sipped at air
Owe win.
Thin call parties
Heard ur now
Sewn unwell been
In fight head.
Know shuns Felt
Ired real lies ten
Spied her
Sell fear yeah till
All ill own.
Thoughts big inner red
sighed dread kin days
pull its fair ingots
true an ask whoop
A Fool.
Errand freight sands
rebate witch whit
Wit sending she sings
A mall of us
Sudden leaps
wings to retch doubt
stun dare each tout
Ooh dues we
fund her joy
none drive all seas
Her Hollers treat tang
Urge greed sold eighths
Whim bling out
Loud Uncle Ear....
All good thin geese
must
calm.
tune
in.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
I.
Somewhere in a mailroom in China
is my acceptance letter to
Brown University,
fluttering in the
sticky, smog-filled wind like an
unspoken birthright,
vacuum sealed in some shoddy warehouse,
slap-banged next to my father's
porcelain wares and flasks – and my grandfather's,
and his father's. "Son,"
my father tells me,
"you've got a lot of the old man in you.
"I am grateful."
I then retch
in the dingy comfort
of our hotel room bath
before proceeding to lunch.
Dad's Chinese counterparts
congratulate me on
being able to tell them what I
want to do when I grow up.
"Wo yao dang yi ge shangren – zhu fu."
“I want to become a businessman – get rich.”
II.
"Wo xuyao xiezuo."
“I must write.”
TS Eliot once asked me,
"Do I dare disturb the universe?"
I do not know yet,
but I think I have found fragments
of an answer lodged in
hotel bathrooms,
a Tianhe-bound overpass
on the way to Beijing Street,
heirloom warehouses,
And two Canton fairs.
"To get rich is glorious,"
Deng Xiaoping once said.
But I glance at
My father and mother,
And theirs,
And wonder if all their life, they have but
knocked on the doors of their fate -
chased dreams not
tobacco stewed or gold-ground
by the teeth of an Other.
As to answer your question, T.S Eliot:
Maybe, if just to find where I truly belong.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC