"suction" poems
Narcissist I
Money questions hidden in cultures
Instead of debates, we have the vultures
They will overspend whatever their budget
Destroy years hard work, their odour pungent
Often called users, epiphytes of highest order
Those that cannot earn sufficient to quarter
Or manage their own, so they use others
Spending, unfettered, is their druthers
Cannot accept responsibility for damage
Continue to feast on their host, they ravage
Hollowing out from inside, funds they suction
Weakening the structure for eventual destruction
And weakened, debates then start about savings
Too late, funds gone, too late for the cravings
Absent conversation, leaves a bad situation
Long ago, train of debate left the station
What we have now is death and decay
All caused by silence, as the vultures flay
It will not be long until they seek a new host
Just when their former home needs them most
So leave they will, to claw the next poor victim
Removing their talons of love and devotion
Moving on, leaving behind just carcasses
Warm used bodies, mark of a narcissist
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
he once said to me...
*“I would blow warm
moist breath through
your toes...
I would do all the
wonderful things
to your big toes
that you do to me.
And most certainly
all the tension would
drain onto me...
I would draw
every last drop
from your toes
with little messages
along the way of my
charted course
to come up
your inner channels.
Resting in the sensitive eddies
behind your knees
we both breathe fire
wafting up and down
your thighs.”*
.... like drips of seduction off his tongue.
And he lingered on, saying...
*“Flaming lips wafting
together with desire,
reaching and pulling
with firey licks.
As I slide
my wet tongue
on up and hover,
breathing
you in
deeply...
through my nostrils
filling my *** senses.
Drunk on your fumes,
I'm consumed.
Circling the tip
of my nose
around
your hard,
pearly knot
feeling the heat
from your butterfly wings
my parted lips surounding
and easing the warmth
of my soul onto you
with wet hot breath.
And I ease the length
of my tongue to rest
completely over
your fire breathing wings ,
warm capable and ready..
leaving you in suspense.
Sliding ever so slightly
and slowly up your
slick silky lips,
tightening the tip
of my tongue -
flick flick
flick flick...
And I look deeply
into your eyes,
into depths
you've never known.
And then I'll take you
all in, with a suction
you'll never escape
or ever want to.
Never breaking eye contact
my tongue slides from bottom
and presses, emphasis
at the top slowly
over and over
settling you in.
We fall into
a oneness
and find
our groove.”*
And I said...
**
*“I wish I wasn't
still irritated with you
so I could fully
enjoy your seduction.”*
**
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 1:30 PM UTC
You want ****** well here I ***
I'll be the trigger to make those ***** juices run
**** with your lips I wanna eat you like a peach
Take you to Hawaii and **** you on the beach
Friction from my licking up and down your ****
Hand full of **** as you grab my ****
My **** starts leaking lusting for your ***** fire
Sixty nine every time let me lick your desire
Exploring every inch of your body and skin
Oops I missed a spot let me do it again
Juices are a flowing I love how you taste
Suction sporadic as my **** enters your face
Bodies in sync I'm feeling all your lust
Making you *** with my tongue is always a must
Your ***** my playground watch me swing
You can play too, here play on my ding a ling
Pulling your hair while I nibble on your neck
As I position your ***** umm so wet
My **** on your **** up and down sideways rubbing you
Begging to be entered, so I do, now I'm ******* you
***** gripping my **** doesn't want to let it go
As we play tug of war in and out your ***** hole
Deep inside you I'm feeling your ***** walls
As I ****** in and out you feel my flapping *****
Finding your G spot oh there it is
Your ***** bubbles up and begins to fizz
Pounding on your ***** turn you around like a dog
*** up in the air ******* you into a fog
My poking keeps stroking as you *** on my ****
Writhing up and down bouncing on my stick
Intertwined in our minds ******* at the same time
Staring in each others eyes while our pleasure climbs
Taboo sextasy with you I'll commit every sin
When we are done turn around and do it again..
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
A hymn to paired planethood: Venus hits Pluto
as death, in cold orbit, collides with biology
smashing to fragments: demonic astrology
(more a black hole than a love-star, it’s true though).
Cynical cure for Eve’s womanly grievance
Concupiscent consequence: lust’s bitter fruit –
ah the thought… changing Sin into mere inconvenience.
Margaret sang her seductive refrain
about weeding the garden and progress and light.
Her sisters should view her with scornful disdain
but instead have adopted her murderous rite.
With sang-froid she promoted her racist eugenics
(as if she had never herself been a fetus),
condemning her heirs to postmodern polemics
while nurturing ardent desires to defeat us.
Suppressing the lives that she flushed down the drain
she would liberate Death – and resistance was vain.
As a midwife to modern life (though on the “anti” side)
Old Matron Margie racked up quite a legacy
singing the praises of sanctioned infanticide
calling the shots for the coming sick century.
Planning, quite calmly, to “cleanse” certain races
her zeal was empowered by murderous graces.
She labored to bring us such pearls of subduction:
“dilation and curettage”, “women’s autonomy”
“viable fetus”, “procedure”, a “suction”
Hippocrates retches to hear the taxonomy;
words that turn Life into mere reproduction.
She enters the realms of the ****** and the motherless
roundly condemned by her feminine otherness.
Man’s first protection: the God-given womb
which no infant should have to regard as their tomb.
Dismembered dark cherubs, assembling, greet her
as demons (in scrubs) holding baby-parts meet her.
Long may she burn with the medical cynics
this mother of Moloch, this founder of clinics.
Convenience is king when abortion’s the Queen
and the profits swell big with each nubile teen…
yet the fruit of such carnage remains to be seen.
I send her this song as a funeral wreath
and a card inked in blood. You may read what is there:
“To the Matrix Supreme of our culture of death
from the souls of the infants you slew on the earth.
May your torment increase with the children you bear.”
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
I love the way you eat me,
treat yourself to my tasty *****
The feel of your tongue,
as they lather my lips,
your ***** rubbing,
my gums against your lips
My head; dips.
your eyes; solar eclipse.
my fingers; tingling as I
tighten my grip.
with each slippery lick.
you lips start to stick --
tingle my nips --
both hard as bricks.
Using our thump,
********* my slit,
while ******* my ****
your warm lips,
making me flip --
the suction,
your rhythm,
thick- long tongue,
beating it like a drum.
The finish - a perfect fit.
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 7:02 PM UTC
ONE
man sits in a pristine state of loneliness
his one heart in perfect singularity
waiting
to be found
not bothering to search
waiting to find himself
as a part
of
TWO
hands held
with two beats, the quiet
lub-dub of each of the
two hearts
slightly out of synchronization
overlapping
just a touch
so the two double beats
become a beat
of
THREE
perfect circles in descending sizes
in each of their
eyes
of which there are
FOUR
lip touches to say goodbye
because the first
would’ve been the last without the second,
the second wasn’t sufficient
and the third wasn’t enough
and the fourth
would lead to kiss
number
FIVE
fingers locked
around
five
fingers
on the small of her back
and five fingers wrapped up in
his hair
he wishes he had more fingers to make the
hold stronger
he wishes
he had
SIX
syllables spoken between them
the same three words repeated
so they know
that
their hearts beat
a little bit closer
the veins and arteries
wrapping around the other
pulling it in
pulling the beats together
making them a little less
disjointed
but she’s all the nearer comatose,
her slow beats
in this minute
barely reached
SEVEN
sounds
that he counts
in every
minute
that he stands there
unable
to sit
his legs locked, shut
like her eyes
that he wants to stare into
he shakes
she does not stir
even as the sun climbs higher in the morning sky
she does not stir
he counts more sounds
every minute
he counts as they
go from
seven
to
EIGHT
arms and legs
wrapped like tentacles
wrapped so tight
never wanting to release
and show the red
suction marks
from each of their fingers
on the other’s
skin
like an octopus
their eight limbs
holding together
their one heart
it’s dull
lub-dub beat
in perfect synchronization
with itself
in the perfect opposite
of a pristine
state of loneliness
Jan 5, 2011
Jan 5, 2011 at 3:01 PM UTC
green and filmy algea
whispers by the lone
sea cucumber,
caressing it as it struggles
to suction itself
lower
than the outgoing tide.
its movements, though minuscule,
move it towards the bottom of the tide pool
but not quite fast enough -
a rock could erode
faster than the sea cucumber
could crawl.
but still it moves
with the tenacity of something
that does not realize it is in danger.
and although it is fighting,
it knows not that it is fighting
but merely
goes on.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 7:14 PM UTC
Ancient doors creak and groan
scraping back the dust
of ages gone
A formidable sight...
like standing guardians
since time immortal
Slinking in
past swirling fog
I pause to calm my fear
adding strength to resolve
when suddenly...
a deafening voice ERUPTS
with EXACTING FASTIDIOUS truths
Solid ground shatters beneath me...
I hover helplessly
Below me...
a noxious boiling maelstrom
The voice of truth EXPLODES from above
ECHOing my 'Every Sin'
the resounding shock-waves
drive me down
Legs lifted high
to avoid the searing pain
then
a tangle of blistered hands reach out
and drag me within the churning inferno
Blinding spin and unbearable suction
envelope
Scream fades to gurgle
Unconsciousness welcome
though never met
The searing pain still rising yet
Each fibre ripped apart
to molecular particle
Riding the vortex of purification
Separating sins from soul
Finally
Cast out
and caught yet again by the uterine web
with the voice of truth
still taunting ...
" BETTER LUCK THIS TIME "
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
Is it not magical, fantastical, terrible
the way my body expands and contracts
like a peach balloon
the more or less I digest.
If I wind mental stitches through
my oesophagus - my bones call
to the skin,
reel it in. ten million krill
trapped in the suction
of the line of a fisherman.
In gluttony, the same line
spills, the tide swells
and multiplies cells
Lipids blossom and my waistband
leaves a discrete red line of rubble
on the shore.
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 1:53 PM UTC
Far be it from me ~ to say that LEAD BALLOONS don't float ! For example, how thick is the lead, how big is the Balloon, is it filled with Helium, is it to be floated on earth , or perhaps the moon, with much less gravity and,,what about aboard a space craft ? SO, just like I said, I can;t say LEAD BALLOONS don't float. Could it be said, that Man's feelings are like LEAD BALLOONS? How Thick or Thin skinned are they, how big and attractive are the temptations? Who and what are the Tempters, that will draw our attention away from truths , carried aloft by LEAD BALLOONS. In any of these cases I ask ...." IS THERE A TETHER ATTACHED"? SO,,,, for the floating portion of the test !! Prepare as follows: Snorkels, Diving Suits, Flippers, Masks and Weighted Belts. Just the things we need for Proper Diving { just in case}. Fully suited Swan Dives may not seem in place at the Olympics, BUT at these Major Finals,,A fully suited person is REQUIRED. Double pike with a Full Twist help in escaping "THAT HUGE SUCTION SOUND". And of course the Perfect Bathing Cap, to keep hair out of FACE. There is Something about having a situation "RIGHT IN YOUR FACE" .
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 7:52 AM UTC
Let me choke you
A few more times
I slapped his ****
Across my cheek
Held it in my mouth
And did it again
Oh you nasty little girl
You love daddy's ****
Don't you
Suction your head
And make a loud pop
As I come off
Finger up your *** now
Spit and slide lips round and down
Pumping finger in and out
Cupping your ***** like a ring
Deep throat you
Till I scream
Now get every last drop
Mmmm that's right
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 5:43 PM UTC
I. To sleep...
As if I needed affirmation
of the weekend from a mouse
As if I needed mutually
indecipherable dialogue
As if I need a hip social setting
when Insomnia gets off on my inside
As if I need a drink for the prodding
of my eyes or charisma for the charming of hers
As if we need a hotel or a bed
for that matter in Dormiveglia
II.* ...perchance to dream.*
Darling Insomnia
how you dazzle in your quilted
queendom of suction
Darling Insomnia
**** out the vanilla gumming
up my timid lungs like sugared venom
Darling Insomnia
I promise I won't burden you with moans of
fantasy-inflicted headaches
Darling Insomnia
let your sirrah latch his inhalation
onto your majestic ***** like an asp
Darling Insomnia
does subordination in my windpipe
do right by your despotic grasp?
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC
End,
The True Tip of my Tongue,
(Enchanted Bronchial Tree),
holding out the
Cavern of Soft Sultry Silhouettes
that hug the walls.
Clinging to their influence able nature,
tendency to allow pink purity
to fall
to the black blistering blasphemy
of dirty-watered bongs.
Inhaling the Damnation of god
And Magic Meal of
Those residing in Gehenna,
Limbo,
And those scouring the pearly whites of
heaven for their 72 ******
***** Calls.
The desperate stench
Of religion
crawling down
my needy trachea
to attach its
sticky suction cup sermons,
trying to trick
My larynx into
Hallelujah’s
And
Hail Mary’s.
Hoping repetition
will etch it into
our subconscious
like a gravestone
set in stone.
So repent,
saunter back into your pen little sheep.
False Anarchic Prophet,
Pretend Goat.
Throw your brain back into the box,
The Individuality Dishwasher,
They built for your mind from the
Start.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 3:19 AM UTC
In my thoughts everyday
Heart meant to beat not to sway
Emotions come will they stay?
Box them up put them away
I'm a M.A.N who needs no introduction
Closer I get..Feel the suction
Lips drip lust taste seduction
Discover your bodies every function
So sly is I behind devilish eyes
Tell me everything you want to try
Wings spread wide but yet to fly
Edge you till you say "OH MY!"
A sensuous kiss cannot be dismissed
Brings about bliss fulfills every wish
Waves of passion ride bodies ocean
Drunk from love off magic potion
Slam connect repeat the motion
Friction builds...Mutual explosion
Relax all tension with a rub
Flower bathe you in the tub
****** toys..Willing Sub
Scorpio Freaky rub a dub dub
G that's the spot..Connect hit the dot
Slam it..tease it..no I wont stop
Slick..So wet..Bubbling hot
Coming together shot for shot
In our stare we feel the hook
A work out sure to leave you shook
Gave..give..take..we took
A page of pleasure in my book
Read me study every chapter
Witness my eve share my rapture
In between what doesn't matter
Comes the moments we choose to capture..
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 6:53 PM UTC
back aching, i want more
sweat, suffering, sweet lips
the suction - when two fatless chests
press close
hair in your eyes
in my mouth, brush away
from my cheek
half-lidded peek
grasp me
i want you to hold my hand
into the mattress
breaking the ice
with every push
whisper, tickle my ear
eat my skinny bones
i feel alive
skin is numb
electric
welts across my back
nails carving our way into spine
pillow talk
the awkward walk
another cigarette
tell me i'm pretty
i think I am
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
Some playful shrimps clean the octolord's suction cups. One of their antennae buzzes a message up one of his orange tentacles and registers in the Octolord's mind: the silly sun is playing! Another shrimp: what's that sun up to now? The Octolord opened his mighty eyehole lids. The sun! What's...
NOTHING
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
Big old jade earring hung from that haunted necklace, swinging from this and that and the other way where and if that sky upstairs let go of the thing I wanted you to be but a break in the system, no a malfunction in that suction of a love that you tried to forget about but feel those typing keys on the fingers that break knees and the heels up and up with the ***** a lingerin' and thats sounding like a new pounding, the one upstairs with the translucent roof ghostly and guess i got a new boot thats fixing itself to elate another prisoner upstate where the worries are always about the women.
Yeah, that women with the diamond ring with her children by her side thinking about the monastery she never visited a big time act act act in a dress that helped her enough and forgot about the rest. But we all move on quick to detest times test with the burritos that she never ate because of the figure she imposed that she got from her transistor radio and the yearly subscriptions of the ghostly ghost that haunted her in the moat around the castle of stairs up ripunzel with dragons a aflame listening to the same wishy washer story of old uncle Maury and the twenty ten twelve salute to the mastery of the fiction of listening, another riddle in the twiddle beneath the sheets that were once painted gold but her husband done left her and she's moving to seattle to start up some new cattle spreading the seed of 1910 where time stands still with his drink in his hand because the guy has got to get around to something with all that talent, with all that anger with all that impulse that proves itself time and time again it will never be enough for a salvation sanitation with the twisty fro's of yearly ye and ye bouts of fights she twisted in that shout that she knew, she knew she swears, what it was all about.
May 6, 2011
May 6, 2011 at 10:10 PM UTC
*So many spiderwebs
each with individual suction cups
******* blood and injecting poison....
a collapse lung....
withered and black....
festering in the hot sun
kissing silver scalpels
and *********** yellow pus
into crunchy white tarp....
capsules that release toxins
into a parched mouth
spiderwebs.... make love to my arm*
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 3:03 PM UTC
Our lips bond together.
On a limb, but I reach out
for the desire to press my
my tongue against yours.
To feel the suction of you,
******* me in ever so close.
I've slightly fallen
We do the tango, twisting
around, turning me upside
down till I feel dizzy.
And juices leak from each
crease of our mouths.
So sweet, my ears heard a
love song that was unsung.
I've slightly fallen
In his seduction , succulent, ******
pleasures which quench my thirst.
I got a Jones. Both of them attracting
at will. The steam from fevered bones.
While my heart and mind plays
the fiddle. Still we sip as he
****** himself gently, palming my
parts as if they were gems in
his hand.
I've slightly fallen
Like a three pierced tongue ring,
our liquids spill over my lips, cheeks
and chin. To taste him I am confident.
For him I flow as his lady in reassurance.
I've slightly fallen
I'm swimming within this man's wine.
But, if I should drown myself
among his deletable kisses;
there is unharmed because
his love is my ocean.
I have slightly fallen into...
By Jessica Hughes aka JH_Poetry
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 1:02 PM UTC
Profound profanity, he says, is the key to germination.
But why, I say, would one ever want to procreate?
For the experience, he says, which is about the journey and not the destination.
I can understand this,
it's like riding a bike
a stationary bike
that goes nowhere but see, you're going! Going and going.
I do see
and so does he
so what do we do?
Not a whole lot, just sit and talk of trains and temperature and how pirates walk.
He likes to do litmus tests of our saliva and hang them in the windows for all to see
that we are not acidic, but on acid, and sometimes a bit base in nature,
like the trees and the crysanthimums and corinthian columns in Greece.
We traveled to Greece, once, on our stationary bike
it was beautiful and real and there was much salt in the air-
they grow olives and fish in the trees
and their water is just teeming with rust.
We put our rust on buttered toast like cinnamon and munched at the oxidized metal,
crunching like captains and cheesin like goats
just a random bunch of fools with our silver and tenticals and suction cups of steel.
We are like robots, fighting crime and boredom with music and shrugs
because frankly my dear we don't give a ram or an aries or any other kind of anything.
We simply do not
because we will not, and refuse, above all else, to sleep without a star in the sky.
May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
I'm a Pattern Breaker
Pass the soul shaker
Rather be a maker
Then meet the undertaker
Study if you want to
Patterns we all go through
Taught false is true
Truth is in what we do
We all have answers
Still we get cancers
Create ribbons and banners
Get upset lose our manners
Soldiers take tours die in religious wars
Truth main battle fought behind closed doors
Toxic hatred spreading mental spores
Pollution melting ice raising ocean shores
Continue the pattern to **** is to win
Method is this madness our greatest sin
Each loss there's a cost animosity begins
An explosion of souls losing their skin
Governments construction to help us function
Built in corruption seeds of self destruction
Laws punish choices creating junctions
Living Hells..Prison cells youth feel the suction
Hmm now what's a Pattern breaker?
Funky new thought creator
Already know the later
Break the pattern of the hater..♏
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 8:08 PM UTC
Take away your knowledge, Doktor.
It doesn't butter me up.
You say my heart is sick unto.
You ought to have more respect!
you with the goo on the suction cup.
You with your wires and electrodes
fastened at my ankle and wrist,
******* up the biological breast.
You with your zigzag machine
playing like the stock market up and down.
Give me the Phi Beta key you always twirl
and I will make a gold crown for my molar.
I will take a slug if you please
and make myself a perfectly good appendix.
Give me a fingernail for an eyeglass.
The world was milky all along.
I will take an iron and press out
my slipped disk until it is flat.
But take away my mother's carcinoma
for I have only one cup of fetus tears.
Take away my father's cerebral hemorrhage
for I have only a jigger of blood in my hand.
Take away my sister's broken neck
for I have only my schoolroom ruler for a cure.
Is there such a device for my heart?
I have only a gimmick called magic fingers.
Let me dilate like a bad debt.
Here is a sponge. I can squeeze it myself.
O heart, tobacco red heart,
beat like a rock guitar.
I am at the ship's prow.
I am no longer the suicide
with her raft and paddle.
Herr Doktor! I'll no longer die
to spite you, you wallowing
seasick grounded man.
2k
I was attacked by jellyfish.
Clear umbrellas
circus tents with mardi gras beads
hung down the side
like indian fringe
tentacles stretching stretching stretching stretching
and stopping.
And stinging.
Those mother smuckers
shooting venom
like Belushi shot ******
through my skin
Chinese acupuncture
sticky jelly arms sticking
plucked off suction cups
like fake tattoos rubbed off
with bare fingers
skin burned
a sixteen alarm salt fire
contained by ocean
no flame but pain
and water stings
the tickle from tentacle to skin
not even a fish
but a gillfree zooplankton
free from captivity
but caged to my skin
like a remora
those shark suckers
but I'm not a host
just prey in the way
for a swim in the gulf
or a walk on the shore
or a pet at the zoo
my chest my feet my hands
stung like ghost bees
not seen but felt
glossed with mud
this time tide sand
wet like tsunamis
mixed with vinegar
rubbed like bay leaves
under the nose
to relieve congestion
but on the wound
to relieve infection
my skin reddens
like rose bloom
from gypsum sands
and I want to sleep
sound as Beethoven
but wake again
like an immortal sea jellie
roaming every ocean
like De Soto or Marco Polo.
Marco
Polo
Marco
Polo
Fish out of water.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:10 PM UTC
tickity-clickity whirr went my father to set
the little merry-go-round musicbox by my bed
with its adorbsable mini-suction cups lining
purple porcelain tentacles
winding round and round
lulling gently with that nostalgic ice-cream truck tune
reminding me of sweet tang juicy mango slush
on a hot afternoon
where the posh-painted ponies fly by with the tide rising up and down
in a seaside villa of some spanish town
in all the grandness of their primary colors so carefully chosen to brush
at the command of a fairy princess with her crown gold-gilded
she's twirling whirling, a mechanical ballerina on springs
gracefully petite her frame, so small the sash on her shoulder
that slips in the breeze to catch the eye of a little soldier
in his regimentals properly fitted, buttoned in brass
a lass like me lovingly adoring bunnies in top hats and bow ties
spats on their feet to tap dance for me
in my dreams the never ending spin of a teacup party
the catch of a hook where the lullaby loses flight
but I'm already asleep with a kiss goodnight
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
I want to erase the figment of my imagination that I’ve allowed you to becomeYou are so opportunistic having used every moment we ever had as a time of spawningYou left traces of yourself that would grow beyond what my mind could containand with your absencethose pieces of you have enlargedThey’ve progressed into long thick arms having my thoughts in choke holds that the top wrestlers have yet to discoverThanks for showing me who you really areYour name is Monsterand I want to remove your electromagnetic tentacles from the nerves of my brainsever your suction cups coat them in a batter flavored with lemon pepper seasoningand deep fry them turn your manipulative tactics into a fine cuisine for the hungered palettes of innocent bystanders that will chew you upswallow youand digest you as the waste of time this aspect of youhas been to meToo bad I’m not bulimicAfter the binge of these false memories I’d gladly shove my finger down my throat and ***** you into filthy toilet bowlsflushing you ‘til you reach your destinationwelcomed by a sea of sewageWhen it comes to the likes of youamnesia has never been so desired.
Feb 26, 2010
Feb 26, 2010 at 9:56 PM UTC