"senators" poems
i. when I was young, I was never complimented. I never felt good enough and it hurt and somewhere along the line I began complimenting everyone because I was never complimented and I never wanted anyone to hate themselves the way I did. just because I call a girl pretty does not mean I want in her pants.
ii. we live in a country where a gay poet spoke at obama's second inauguration, where five openly gay senators serve, where all fifty states have had a gay elected officer in some capacity, so if I were to be gay, what's the problem with a relatively unknown sixteen year old girl from a relatively unknown town in a relatively unknown state being gay?
iii. do you want me to be gay? do you want a better, more socially acceptable reason to make fun of me? is my weight not enough?
iv. I was taught the term fluidity by my best friend Alyssa. she firmly believes that sexuality is a spectrum, like many other things. I have a different view on sexuality because I see it as a spectrum, not something that's set in stone.
v. I like making people happy, I like completing people, I apologize a bit too frequently and I was taught how to accept people.
vi. just because I call a girl pretty does not mean I like her. just because I say a dog is cute does not mean I want with the dog. just because I say a painting is pretty does not mean I am going to **** the painting.
vii. aesthetic is a very important word.
viii. there are three kinds of attraction, aesthetic, romantic, and ****** just because you have one does not mean you have all three. just because I like the way something looks doesn't mean I am going to have *** with it.
ix. sexuality is an Identity. not a YOUdentity.
x. I'm not gay, but if I were, trust me, I wouldn't go for such a whiny little *****
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
A female tennis player might give
An umpire a piece of her mind
When she disagrees with him.
Consequently, she is fined
Or penalized in other ways.
However, if the player's a male,
He can spit, destroy his racket,
Yell, and viciously assail
The umpire at a tournament.
He could even resort to calling
The ump an "abortion," and little or nothing
Happens to him. Now THAT'S appalling!
A candid man might be considered
"Direct" or "outspoken." Isn't that rich?
But if you are an assertive women,
You are basically called a *****
A man who loudly demonstrates
At a Senate hearing in an angry fashion
Could be considered "aggressive" or even
Be called a man of "impetuous passion."
A woman, however, who interrupts
A Senate hearing with passion hears
Herself being called "hysterical" when
She's led away to Senators' sneers.
Sexism? Discrimination?
Inequality? Status quo?
It certainly appears that way.
The double standard has got to go!
-by Bob B (9-11-18)
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 9:13 AM UTC
-This is Nigeria,
Where Cattle’s fly their terrorism flag,
Stumping on humtydumpty green white green.
-This is Nigeria
Where corrupt QWERTY and busy ******
Puts food on the table of unemployed youths.
-This is Nigeria
Where clerics find paradise on earth
Lo! followers live as church rats withal.
-This is Nigeria
Where Eve plotted against a serpent
Hm! Mrs Philomena and her fairytale animal.
-This is Nigeria
Where Sundays are full of bibles and Qurans,
Yet her body stinks in poo of immorality.
-This is Nigeria
Where the mace is a mess in her house
As senators sleeps and vacate seats in a hearing.
-This is Nigeria
Where in Nigeria
We are looking for Nigeria.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 10:46 AM UTC
amidst Jeffersonian opulence
the Prez broke bread with his
GOP poker face friends
to solve government gridlock
and sequester predicament trends
citizens of the republic
hopeful for nonsense to cease
sat at the table asking
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
Obama perused the wine list
boldly choosing a luscious Merlot
senators ordered the finest hors d'oeuvres
the guests were all aglow
numerous delectable dishes
were liberally splayed on the table
revelers sipped flowing vintages
wine a surefire icebreaker
sparkling crystal Lennox flutes
tinkled with convivial release
while America’s disenfranchised
voices ask
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
chutney meat, curried hens and
sweet walnut rainbow trout
the table a horn a plenty
the guests gorged on fine cuisine
a blessed nations bounty
the feast consumed
the Senators sated
said it was some
of the finest ever served
but the taxpayers only
got a peak of the banquet
a whiff of senators nerve
and asked
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
the dessert cart was rolled in
with custards, cakes, creme brulee
cordials, cognac and VSOP tastes
rounded out the wholesome feast
when the check was presented
for payment all guests headed
for the door with haste
they told the waiter the bill of fare
was covered
by the guy asking...
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
Music Selection:
Andre Williams:
Pass The Biscuits Please
jbm
Oakland
3/7/13
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.
4.3k
~ dad said she'd be famous ~
*"...a doctor
or diva
like lena horne,"* he said
he'd been doing odd day jobs
and driving cabs deep into the night
through these mean city streets
since ella's debut
at the apollo
and his smile
grew wider than
jackie o's
reservoir in central park
when this bouncing baby girl
made her grand debut
into his world
the dimples on her
cherub caramel cheeks
were irresistibly pinchable
and those twinkling eyes
knew she'd be spoiled infinitely
like a fruit-fly in a box
of rotten apples
~ reality check ~
....if you look closely
you might still see one dimple;
but the twinkles departed
back in '75
....and the burns
on her fingertips
and blistered lips
....and the bones....
jutting like the bones
of refugees and anorexics
....missing flesh
...and the tracks
on her forearms
and filthy jeans
.....and the eyes....
shifting like the eyes
of senators and thieves
....telling lies
.....and the rotting corpse
in a black garbage bag
in fresh kills
multiple choices removed
from the doctor
and diva of daddy's dreams
hijacked by dream-killers:
*smack
crack
and addiction*
~ P (Pablo)
(8/1/2013)
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
The preacher scrubbed your sins away absolved you under rafters
under fire
under auspices
Of books with dust in bindings
layed down many lifetimes thick.
But a preacher needs a pulpit
like a fish requires scales
Without the choir, no pool to swim.
Senators tell you sweetened lies
that half us want to hear
two per state
means only saying
"Sorry," 'bout half the time
to half the people, sometimes.
But a liar needs your two ears
and a moment of your time
No need for snake oil when you're well.
McGowan is a drinker, true
draining oceans of pints dry
under fire
under praises, too
From quarters high and lowly
his legend laid down thickly
But a preacher needs a pulpit
and McGowan needs a page
Needs pen in hand and needs a stage
Otherwise, he's just a "Shane."
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
What are we waiting for, assembled in the forum?
The barbarians are due here today.
Why isn't anything happening in the senate?
Why do the senators sit there without legislating?
Because the barbarians are coming today.
What laws can the senators make now?
Once the barbarians are here, they'll do the legislating.
Why did our emperor get up so early,
and why is he sitting at the city's main gate
on his throne, in state, wearing the crown?
Because the barbarians are coming today
and the emperor is waiting to receive their leader.
He has even prepared a scroll to give him,
replete with titles, with imposing names.
Why have our two consuls and praetors come out today
wearing their embroidered, their scarlet togas?
Why have they put on bracelets with so many amethysts,
and rings sparkling with magnificent emeralds?
Why are they carrying elegant canes
beautifully worked in silver and gold?
Because the barbarians are coming today
and things like that dazzle the barbarians.
Why don't our distinguished orators come forward as usual
to make their speeches, say what they have to say?
Because the barbarians are coming today
and they're bored by rhetoric and public speaking.
Why this sudden restlessness, this confusion?
(How serious people's faces have become.)
Why are the streets and squares emptying so rapidly,
everyone going home so lost in thought?
Because night has fallen and the barbarians have not come.
And some who have just returned from the border say
there are no barbarians any longer.
And now, what's going to happen to us without barbarians?
They were, those people, a kind of solution.
2.4k
A general and statesman,
reformer and conquerer,
summoned to the senate,
and hastily issued a petition
of which to bring back a senators
banished brother.
The Dictator Waves him off,
and Cimber grasps his shoulder,
“Ista quidem vis est!”*1
Cascas dagger is drawn,
swiftly toward the neck it darts,
yet caesar nimbly catches such
attack,
“Casca you villain! What is this you do!?”
Casca fearing, cries “Adelphe, Boethei!”*2
Then like the wolves descending on
a lonely foe, they lunge and leap,
Brutus too…
Caesar at the sight of him,
averts his eyes and makes for the door,
unable to escape he falls upon the floor,
“Kai su, Teknon?”*3
The man who was harried,
crawled to the steps, and
saying nothing,
Caesar dies…
The Lower steps submerged in the
Emperors crimson blood,
the body cold, limp,
lifeless,
had at by the vultures,
armed with knives, and
stabbed times twenty-three.
The conspirators proud,
marched through the streets,
and announced to fear-struck
citizens,
“People of Rome! We are once again free!”
Yet, no one came out…
for now.
until, Three hours passed,
and only then,
was the fallen mans lifeless,
corpse drenched in blood,
collected and cremated.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
"Don't work with the Americans."
"Don't help the Americans."
This is what some of the Afghan interpreters are saying
After their poor treatment by the United States government
The Afghan Interpreters are angry
And they have a right to be
After most U.S. troops have left
Some are stuck hiding in Kabul
The Taliban tell the local people
That they are infidels
The Taliban **** many interpreters
The Afghan Interpreters struggle
Only about 30% get their visa
Some only have enough money
To make it to Greece
They live together
Barely any money
No hot water
Persecuted by the local police
One interpreter saved the life of an American soldier
The soldier helped him put together his visa packet
His visa took three years!!!
This interpreter had fought with them for 7 years
Had saved the lives of five American soldiers
Had been the personal interpreter for 12 U.S. senators
One interpreter
Did not leave on a flight approved by the U.S.
He had to leave on the next flight
Because the Taliban was threatening to **** him
Thankfully the U.S. soldier
Had a place for him to stay
And could give him some money
The soldier promised him
He would help him get resettlement benefits
Even though the U.S. government stated
He was not eligible to receive his benefits
Because he did not arrive on a U.S. approved flight
The Vice Interviewer
Learns from the lawyers working for the interpreters
That there is a massive bureaucracy
The Department of Defense doesn't consider them veterans
The soldier tried to get a bill introduced
That would streamline the process
And increases the number of visas
To help the Afghan Interpreters
No legislation regarding immigration was introduced
Because of bickering among Republican members
The program ran out in September of 2014
So now thousands will be stuck in Afghanistan
One interpreter that was interviewed
Was stuck in Afghanistan
Working as a taxi driver
Fearing for his life
Many of the Taliban prisoners
Have been released
Now he fears for his life
He doesn't know what will happen
6,000 applicants
For 280 available visas
As of July 2014
May God bless the Afghan interpreter
Trying to live his life in peace
May God bless the Afghan people
It seems things never change for them
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
pasty white ghosts haunt
the corpse blue cornfields of Iowa
whispering wisps of smoke
shimmering shadows of the past
setting the pace for the rat race
that is the 2016 U.S. Presidential Election
senators billionaires doctors
frauds liars fools
campaigning for selection in an
archaic and outdated
form of governance
witness the spectacle
the orgastic worship
of solipsistic oligarchs
bloated by their own
sycophantic rhetoric
it's just another form
of all-American
entertainment
each orator's charismatic adage
froths forth from a
throat like a grave
pragmatism throttles hope
as we stoke the fires of
self-indulgence and neglect
the fact that we acquiesced
as another deceiver stole votes
we're choking on placebo pills
every ballot cast is another act of apathy
escapism pleading vainly for a
savior to rescue our sick society but
these hands didn't evolve so we could
collect a representative to lead us
blindly into one fiasco after another
these fingers penned
humanity's symphonies and
these calloused palms have
toiled for years under an apathetic sun
we learned to make love
using our fingertips and
with these fists
we could chart a new path
but only if we raise them in
defiance
our only chance is leaderless resistance
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 12:05 AM UTC
A Roman, noble and Patrician,
moved his Legions into position.
The morning Sun was in their eyes
as they advanced upon Cannae.
The Day was hot, they lacked hydration
as they fought this battle of annihilation.
The hot winds swept dust in their eyes
as they advanced upon Cannae.
Hannibal troops seemed to retreat,
The Legions were in hot pursuit.
The Carthaginians moved to surround
the Romans on the killing ground.
Eighty thousand Roman dead,
Mars’ thirst quenched by the blood they shed
Their arms and armor cast aside
upon the fields around Cannae.
Fortuna always smiled on Rome
before this battle at Cannae
Rome’s Senators refused to yield
though their Sons lay dead upon the field.
In the Pantheon of gods
echo prayers from the devout
to a new god born of that rout.
Some say it is the god of doubt.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 12:24 PM UTC
---:$:---:$:---
There he goes
the Democrat's fool
the Republican's stooge
a New Order tool
He thinks his candidate
tells the truth
He's heading for the
voting booth
There she goes
those lies are glib
her female hero
promotes Woman's Lib!
For corporate governance
they're all in
They got that
Jolly Roger Grin!
There they stand
The brave Senators
The political nightmare
Dogs and curs
You're out of work
and in a jam?
Just email your
Congressman!
As far as our
Fearless Leaders go
they're no better
they're politicos
For corporate governance
they're all in
They got that
Jolly Roger Grin!
At the end of our rope
we choke and dance
but we keep our
political stance
We listen to their
clever quips
kissing babies
with rotting lips
But they are poisoning
the water we drink
the air we breathe
C'mon folks!
THINK!
We have power!
We have might!
We gotta think!
We gotta fight!
The Constitution's
eroding away!
The Bill of rights?
Ha! Gone today.
In the end
We could WIN!
There's 99 of US to only
ONE OF THEM
For corporate governance
they're all in
They got that
Jolly Roger Grin
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/17/2015
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC
What gentle images in the fading frescos of ancient Italy
Sylph-like figures gliding
Along emerald green and viridian pathways
Showing delicate movements of sophisticated people
Brought down to earth by strong fighting men.
Disciplined soldiers with life long missions
Finding resolve in their heritage and republican history
Gaining new ground and no prisoners taken
Their senators and loved ones walk the streets and market places
Regardless of sweat and toil of their constant striving
The upper classes remain in peace with their souls.
Vellum, wax or stone, the messages remain
Suspended within their time
Yet the beauty of their images
Depicting a tranquil and calm epoch
We can never know the daily lives for sure
But beauty remains and we will accept this simple declaration
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
Thousands of grains of rice boiled and resting
on the lining of unconsumed human veal. No one can **** the dweeb
who suckered that one kid at the party out of drugs
with the help of the cutest girl there. He knew how to hurt
the best in the world with one word.
Sweet tea and *** goes much deeper than the ribs
and out the back door much faster than a deadbeat dad. The stomach
rumbles the world far worse than a string of serial rapists on trial.
World hunger is a yo-yo doing pendulum swings over summer BBQs
drinking and popping *** and candy from the local radio station.
“I'm sorry I felled you. I should have done better by you. I love you.”
Vague women with just five minute existences of commitments, those Senators of Love
vying for second and third terms
before they sink into those holes in South America you hear about
in the news.
Men know nothing but control. Women know nothing but control.
Numbers know nothing.
Collapsed tunnels in the mind of Prometheus
before calendars and Twitter and liquor
just the dark and blunt
objects
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
Sly: The Duffle bag part 1:
His Days Were Not Like Most!
It was a typical summer night, not a single cloud to gloom the gloomy sky. The sidewalks reeked of a smell that most would consider disgusting, the smell of prostitution eclipsed by drug infested buildings highlighted by the scent of ***** made for a fun night out on the town. Sly was the type to take advantage, and he did. His rough external features were perfectly matched his all black outfit and black trench coat. He was a man of few words, few emotions, and few delights. Each step he took that night echoed through the streets so loud the wind it self would stop. His eyes were red, drained, tired, he had been up all night thinking, wondering, but now he was ready for action. The old warehouse downtown had been abandoned for sometime now. Its cold and unfriendly, a place Sly could call a home, an urban retreat of sorts for him and his duffle bag. His red duffle bag, that duffle bag housed an arsenal, an arsenal of weapons so treacherous, it had intent to inflict immeasurable amounts of misery for a common denominator. Sly was Hungry, angry; his scope was set at the top of the old warehouse. Sly had climbed the catwalk with precious percussion. He set the red duffle bag down next to him. Sly sat down on a beam that barley supported his weight. A large window 45 degrees to the right of him, made a great position. He opened his red duffle bag! A ****** riffle laid cold and dormant waiting and wanting the touch of existence. The energy felt by his emotional bond to his riffle was indescribable. He loaded the piece. Each bullet loaded the clip as if tenors were in harmony with the alto. The voices that sang revenge sang with an unholy cry, yet the confidence in his faith would serve him as he uttered the symbol of his determination. Slowly he made love to his weapon, cleaning and feeling it’s every corner. Across the road no more than a mile, stood a house. House where political propaganda represented it’s housing guests. Senators of Satin! See Sly was in a very particular business; a business most don’t even know exist…Sly was in the business of killing Demons!
.
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 11:29 AM UTC
Bold Captain Gray comes down
To islands warm,
Where tawny men are chattel;
Sees brightly Patrick Spens
Survive a storm,
And wants to win the battle!
But when the cannon
Shots roar all 'round them
And punch a hole in th' aft deck;
Laments that Spens was found
A man too "holey"
Murmur around the carrack!
What were his last words,
Tell them to me boys,
Or I'll get raw with fury!
For Patrick owed your
Weight in Spanish coin;
God stablished I his jury!
But when the men had
Still not loosed their lips,
E'en under pain or menace;
Says Gray, what senators
Be these lads who still
Possess no fear of penance?
Then comes the lookout boy
From up above,
Where long the mast had held him;
Says, Patrick Spens just
Gave me his last word;
See here, it's writ on vellum!
Then up the captain roars...
And makes to burn the stores...
For tricks the crew had played...
With rage, the captain said:
Beehive the rightless dogs, to hell ‘em,
Give me the answer scrawled on vellum!
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 7:50 PM UTC
Promise to nominate a judge
Who will reverse previous decisions.
Relish the opportunity
To fan the flames of people's divisions.
Refuse to provide the senators
With all of the documents that they need
To allow for careful, researched judgment.
Your nominee will be guaranteed.
Be sure the person you nominate
Will have your back if things get hairy.
Agreeing that you're above the law
Is absolutely necessary.
Let ideology be
The key factor for stacking the Court.
Your starry-eyed supporters will
Give you their undying support.
Train your nominee to behave
Just like you when at a hearing.
Your base will consequently find
The person even more endearing.
If any dirt might come up,
Limit the background investigation
To make it essentially a sham.
And lie without reservation.
Persuade Republicans in Congress
To sycophantly do your bidding.
You scratch their backs; they'll scratch yours.
Works like a charm. I'm not kidding!
Belittle dissenters. People who don't
Support you, you humiliate.
Stick to this plan, for that's how you
Are going to make this country great.
-by Bob B (10-5-18)
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 8:35 AM UTC
Come gather ’round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You’ll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you is worth savin’
Then you better start swimmin’ or you’ll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin’
Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won’t come again
And don’t speak too soon
For the wheel’s still in spin
And there’s no tellin’ who that it’s namin’
For the loser now will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin’
Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don’t stand in the doorway
Don’t block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There’s a battle outside and it is ragin’
It’ll soon shake your windows and rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin’
Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don’t criticize
What you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is rapidly agin’
Please get out of the new one if you can’t lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin’
The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is rapidly fadin’
And the first one now will later be last
For the times they are a-changin’
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 11:14 PM UTC
Caligula, wise man of course,
Sought due promotion for his horse:
With no prerequisite debate,
The beast became a magistrate.
And then one day, without a groom,
He clopped into the Senate Room,
Followed beastly intuition,
Became an instant politician.
Without regard for poll or slate,
He soon demolished all debate.
And senators called out for more
When he did wonders on the floor.
With misdemeanor as the rule
He was a true unbridled fool,
Guided by a brute suspicion,
Stamping out all opposition.
He was reviled by common folk,
Democracy was deemed a joke;
To quote the ancient anecdotes,
He once said, "Let them all eat oats!"
Now that he's passed beyond declension
His legacy deserves attention:
Some politicians to this day
Still emulate the equine way:
They clop and neigh, they snort and roar,
There's always something on the floor;
They pound their desks, they're downright corny
Making all the issues thorny.
Don't wonder when they clown around
And seem so shockingly unsound;
Just trace the madness to its source:
Caligula adored his horse.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
While waiting, tired and sore, my eyes tremble in
awareness. Trying to wake up in a notorious dream.
Bronze statues of gay senators, tales of despair, and
maniacs. I think of Ginsberg and his reach to free
speech, to tell all the fakers to smoke a dinosaur,
to see the real world. I think of my sister, deceased,
rotting down below, people praying to their unreal God.
I dream of living in a narrow world, where the creeps judge
the freaks, and prey on the high school cheerleaders.
3 lights, 2 dead, 1 burning out.
I sit in my square bedroom,
bay side blue walls. My heroes are dead,
my only brother dead, paintings from my faded out great-grandmother hanging on the wall.
Cd’s of suicidal music,
stolen books from school,
MAD magazines, no not that kind of madness you schmuck!
Books filled with my ***** word poetry,
two alarm clocks, one for noise, and the other
for amusement. I sink, getting more tired, sinking in my box bed.
What will I dream tonight?
Sleep.
I wake up with Shakespeare written on my lips.
2009
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
Sing a song of slick men
Pocket full of lies.
Four and twenty fat cats
Terribly unwise.
When the truth was spoken
They don’t even try.
They’re immune to reason
And they get all the pie.
Sing a song of no sense
And how they persevere
How they get elected
Year after year
Still they have no scruples;
Ethically impure,
They still win out in the polls.
Why is still unclear.
We should build a big fence
And lock them all inside.
Then impound their fortunes
Wherever they hide.
Let them see for sure how
Crooks we can’t abide.
See if they can stand each other
Living side by side.
Sing a song of statesmanship
Nearly gone extinct
Senators and gangsters
Not so distinct.
The rich still had their millions
We lost the kitchen sink.
Brought us all to near defeat
And pushed us near the brink.
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
Organization man. In the best sense
creating the environment in which experiments
can be savored and remembered.
Then there is the world of interlocked
organizations. A world of missions and contracts
finely tuned and binding.
Is the formation of associations
as instinctual as nesting and gestation?
A leader may be one who asks a question.
Or may be one imposing order.
Imposed through consensus and broad shoulders.
Waits, watches, acts his part.
I was impressed by the list of distinguished senators
from Vermont. He placed himself among men,
orators, imperfect, in history.
We march forward, imperfect in our justice
and compassion. Overriding logic with conscience
sometimes, not often, when it counts.
And mercy. A seemingly irrational, total
abnegation of the markets, rules of war, law.
Good to be so flawed.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
Sleepy September rain
pretending life isn't busy
Standing still on slippery edge
Taking in foggy city view
Of little senators and harpies
Playing house of cards
All so quiet up here
On newly constructed condo roof
Little ant people climbing up
Towards the light with fungal parasites
protruding from wet open wounds
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC