"thresh" poems
A Few lines etched where no words give weight.
Good riddance say the veterans
Of a nation gone sour with grief
Like a lemon slice evaporating onto the tongue of the sick.
But when the young yearn for White Nights,
The old claim they are blinding lights to the cold sugary substance
That supplants an easy path.
The bullithole rush of renewal and loneliness and progress thwarted and abandoned,
Inertia seeping through
Into a cold summer's day.
Between the cursing slant of sleek paved roadstrips,
And the burning briars that thresh the border's haunt,
What is picture postcard emerald
Is in that same instance soviet architect gray.
These are the sleepers bereft of the dream
whose twenty-five stories high
or ghost estates
are domes to cast out the howling banshees, those suffrage of the real
to be re-thought as mere props which surround the haloed glowing screen.
So sheen the Motherland glows in untarnished eyes
Familiar solely with glass behemoths parading with their reflections
In grey water-drizzled streets,
Only to be replaced by iridescent rainbows that foster a hope.
A hope that was packaged and sold two decades back
Since it was not worth carrying into the New World.
The water-trough falls to where the electric line banishes, connects a spike,
"rejuvenate the breakfast table"-some far-off God reports, Hades still waiting,
Intel-chip Blue, epiphany at the gates.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 9:02 AM UTC
A Few lines etched where no words give weight.
Good riddance say the veterans
Of a nation gone sour with grief
Like a lemon slice evaporating onto the tongue of the sick.
But when the young yearn for White Nights,
The old claim they are blinding lights to the cold sugary substance
That supplants an easy path.
The bullithole rush of renewal and lonliness and progress thwarted and abandoned,
Inertia seeping through
Into a cold summer's day.
Between the cursing slant of sleek paved roadstrips,
And the burning briars that thresh the border's haunt,
What is picture postcard emerald
Is in that same instance soviet architect gray.
These are the sleepers bereft of the dream
whose twenty-five stories high
or ghost estates
are domes to cast out the howling banshees,those suffrage of the real
to be re-thought as mere props which surround the haloed glowing screen.
So sheen the Motherland glows in untarnished eyes
Familiar solely with glass behemoths parading with their reflections
In grey water-drizzled streets,
Only to be replaced by iridescent rainbows that foster a hope.
A hope that was packaged and sold two decades back
Since it was not worth carrying into the New World.
The water-trough delving where the electric line banishes,connects a spike,
"rejuvenate the breakfast table"-some far-off God reports, Hades still waiting,
Intel-chip Blue, epiphany at the gates.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 5:24 AM UTC
Too far away, oh love, I know,
To save me from this haunted road,
Whose lofty roses break and blow
On a night-sky bent with a load
Of lights: each solitary rose,
Each arc-lamp golden does expose
Ghost beyond ghost of a blossom, shows
Night blenched with a thousand snows.
Of hawthorn and of lilac trees,
White lilac; shows discoloured night
Dripping with all the golden lees
Laburnum gives back to light.
And shows the red of hawthorn set
On high to the purple heaven of night,
Like flags in blenched blood newly wet,
Blood shed in the noiseless fight.
Of life for love and love for life,
Of hunger for a little food,
Of kissing, lost for want of a wife
Long ago, long ago wooed.
. . . . . .
Too far away you are, my love,
To steady my brain in this phantom show
That passes the nightly road above
And returns again below.
The enormous cliff of horse-chestnut trees
Has poised on each of its ledges
An ***** small girl looking down at me;
White-night-gowned little chits I see,
And they peep at me over the edges
Of the leaves as though they would leap, should I call
Them down to my arms;
"But, child, you're too small for me, too small
Your little charms."
White little sheaves of night-gowned maids,
Some other will thresh you out!
And I see leaning from the shades
A lilac like a lady there, who braids
Her white mantilla about
Her face, and forward leans to catch the sight
Of a man's face,
Gracefully sighing through the white
Flowery mantilla of lace.
And another lilac in purple veiled
Discreetly, all recklessly calls
In a low, shocking perfume, to know who has hailed
Her forth from the night: my strength has failed
In her voice, my weak heart falls:
Oh, and see the laburnum shimmering
Her draperies down,
As if she would slip the gold, and glimmering
White, stand naked of gown.
. . . . . .
The pageant of flowery trees above
The street pale-passionate goes,
And back again down the pavement, Love
In a lesser pageant flows.
Two and two are the folk that walk,
They pass in a half embrace
Of linked bodies, and they talk
With dark face leaning to face.
Come then, my love, come as you will
Along this haunted road,
Be whom you will, my darling, I shall
Keep with you the troth I trowed.
4.2k
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too.
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.
Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.
2.8k
This is the weather the cuckoo likes,
And so do I;
When showers betumble the chestnut spikes,
And nestlings fly;
And the little brown nightingale bills his best,
And they sit outside at ‘The Traveller’s Rest,’
And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest,
And citizens dream of the south and west,
And so do I.
This is the weather the shepherd shuns,
And so do I;
When beeches drip in browns and duns,
And thresh and ply;
And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe,
And meadow rivulets overflow,
And drops on gate bars hang in a row,
And rooks in families homeward go,
And so do I.
2.3k
He catches me in lovin--
*liking
him*
and it's always striking
how my body acts on whim.
He always looks the best
not wearing any clothes,
makes my ***** point west
with their ***** woes.
He makes me think in lovely
and dresses me in kisses:
purple,
black,
red and bruised up
kisses
(he never misses).
I have a necklace ringing
all around my skinny neck,
I wear his love
like a trophy,
do I look a-wreck?
I make him wreck my body
night after night after night
because I want his gaudy,
pale and beautiful might
to come down all at once
and bury me in flesh;
to fill my ears with grunts
and turn my soil threshed.
Thresh me, thresh me hard,
my beautiful man,
my body's prettier marred
with your harmattan
breezes blowing on my sands;
how I really,
really,
really
like
my
man
because he buries me in hugging
and hides me in his warmth;
he always has me shrugging
the yeses from up north
in the epicenter of all pleasure
rooted in my mind;
it's the greatest measure
of our loving time.
He spanks me 'til I moan,
I **** him 'til he's dry,
his touch turns me to stone and
his stroking makes me cry.
Though it may be sore
after a day or so
my heart is always hurting
from the constant flow
of his body's beautiful fluids,
white and clear and true;
who needs a beautiful blue
when I have my like,
my really,
really,
really
like;
it's better than number two.
(I really,
really,
really like you)
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 5:00 AM UTC
From my rotting body, flowers will grow, and I will finally be beautiful.
The marigolds that will bloom will not flee and vanish from the glow of the sun
They will aspire and capture its power, ever basking in its majesty unlike all that I have done
For they are enduring and evergreen, quite a contradiction to someone always on the run
Helianthus will burgeon from my corpse in the Autumn, cordial, acquiescent and jolly
Luminous hues of gold, superiority in the form of a blooming seedling, free of worldly folly
Irresistible to butterflies and feathered creatures, who shall evermore adore the perennial dolly
Snowdrops with delicate pedicels will pepper the frost polishing over my long corroded flesh,
An impeccable ability to synthesize with the world effortlessly, so that I may at last mesh
Nevermore will I acquiesce to let the world negligently toss me about, instead the world will thresh
Irises in the spring will be next to transcend, ripe with nonconformity rooting from their eccentric peridot petals
For the world encompassing them may be wrapped in blissful ignorance, but they will forever hesitate to settle
They realize that life is for naught, putrescence is inevitable, so why even make a vain attempt to mettle
As sure as the sun will ascend, the summer will materialize, and the sun's glimmer will rage from dusk until dawn
For the world will strive on, long after I am gone, and my effulgence on the Earth is perpetually withdrawn
I am not fearful of death because in death there is ignorance and blissful uncertainty
From my rotting body, flowers will grow, and I am in them and that is eternity.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
Washed up on the sandy beach
amidst the summer rain,
The mighty king of the Pacific
lay in persecuting pain.
The creature wailed with ***** prowess,
but his health was soon to wane,
And by the morning that came after,
sovereign was reduced to stain.
Vultures from the distance
ripped apart his tender flesh
With spit to sear his wounded majesty
and claws to tear and thresh.
The wicked gang of savage butchers
in a loathsome, boorish mesh
Would make a swollen, seething carcass
of our one-time Venkatesh.
Three days after passing,
fallen Caesar, set to rise,
Was then revoked his Heaven’s passage,
and left wallowed in demise:
A body plagued by every virus;
swarmed by avaricious flies,
Stranded, rotting, in the Earth realm,
‘stead of claiming his due prize.
Hurricanes, October,
brought the wrath of Davy Jones
To wreak an evil-minded havoc
and to thrive on victim moans,
And dash the Herculean skeleton
upon the crags and stones
To rain on thousands with the splinters
of his elephantine bones.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
"From Thy Thresh-Holds,
I Wish To Uphold;
Through The Wave-Tide Αnd Gravity,
To Where I Feel Sympathy!"
"To Thy Branches I Rest,
A Tree Of A Caring-Shade;
Like Thy Sturdy-Roots Of Crest,
Shall I Stay Brave Αnd Will Never Fade!"
"From Thine Gift Of Wings I Fly,
Into Horizons Of Unsearched-Sky;
By The Limits Of Reality,
Shall I Soar My Dreams Upon A Fantasy!"
"Αnd On Thine Heart,
Shall My Nest Be Built;"
"Peacefully Αnd Gently,
Shall I Take My Rest;
For With Thine Compassion,
I Am Caressed!"
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC
birthed from the roost above the ground
cooing whoooing shuddering sounds of a flock
holding uniting all in its bold thunder
morning doves serenade awakens to day
holding out the clatter the buzz and were
of industrial chimes
my eye hiding in the shadow of night
to remain in the darkness of sleep all knowing
what awaits the losing of peace in morning time
the harsh noise of man made waste
polluting the mind abruptly canceling
the dreams of the divine...
the reach for meaning a vision that sees mystery
hears the sound held in the cooing nature of doves
living life the primeval nature verses man kind
mature maligned by the noise of industry
power and greed to over whelm
the soft strokes of nature to mature
to be to bring forth the glory of day
in natures life of humans and creatures sharing
the morning air waves my eye hidden
in darkness of soul first light glow
to abound in freedom the being reborn
the nature of time to reveal another great mystery
to remain in the darkness once more
to allow nature to dream with me
to set the motion of true love on its ear
to straddle night to day
oh great being that is life let me lay
in your celestial comfort starlight of night
all winds cooler apree vestin Earth
revolves to the east rising into the starlight in day
interrupting this tranquil starry night
the to day of starlight
my eyes piercing and rolling still shuttered
in the time of longing for the peace
that holds my world divine this inner light
and belief that love is a real place
that allows the birthing of joy
a serene moment giving life an up lift
resets the Earth into the starlight of day
to know my being is one in time
with living nature I hide in the darkness
awaiting my faerie tail to swish away
the cobwebs that abound in the night
on the thresh hole of first light a reason
to hold back the noise of man made creation
the serene born from darkness to know the truth
light of living life the joy alive
holding my being in the dream of first light
poetry has captured the uttering within my breast
swelling and rising into the starlight of day
the morning doves cooing bodies shuddering at will
to be heard the first light of day
honored for the love giving hope to surrender...
the old that comes before me the memories of time
starlight life rays that birthed the Earth
all these moments honored
the old comes before the rage of man
its industrial noise to heavy
for the morning light disappears squandered
by greed pushing pulling at the sun
to conform in its man made realm
to mimic creation... gjmars 6/25/15
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
ideal porcelain pin)k crease
supple
roots in twaining
correct abstinence
gone rusty septum
thresh brimming
sacrifice;
shattered peace breathe heaving freckles
luscious ocean CraSh! salty teeth on plush shore
make a specific cry blushing shoal
lush ribbon moan so wet you...
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 1:50 PM UTC
which side is real
day or dream
based on how it feels
not how it seems
a thresh-hold, marginal at best
to keep the sane from all the rest
in research we demoralize
the beauty held within our eyes
i cannot describe what i once felt
pure emotion, heaven's hell
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 11:20 PM UTC
my mind frays in poisson distribution.
small remnants of your heat invade my chest
like shrapnel. the moths lose constellations
to buzzing lamps that light our careful rest.
we cup our heat in folds of fragile flesh
the way the oysters do––these streets are queer,
don’t bear our weight correctly. pavements thresh
small bones out from our soles. they **** ants here––
the sacrifice of insects builds our nest.
air mixes carefully, distended by
the probability of night. the breaths
are small and incendiary,
but dawn means i’ll grow tall and be again
human and able to understand pain.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 10:24 PM UTC
let me tell you something about regret
let me tell you something about being saturated with your thoughts, about being completely above your thresh hold of absorption and trying to desperately figure out how you can get out of it
it's a delicate game between i hope he gets it and he never does, a fine line between texting him at 1am trying to apologize for what you've been doing wrong and realizing he's just a boy and he can't handle that
we cling unflinchingly to the memories of our past until eventually we are tunnel visioned by them, unable to move forward because they are the quicksand in our mind forcing us to stay
and let me tell you about trying to do texts at midnight drunk on the absence of sleep telling them that they surely understand, trying to get closure to the fact that no you are not the only one who feels like this, he feels it too, but it will always be about someone else
and i could give you countless essays on replaying images of their tears, on wishing that you were never in a ******* hotel corridor spilling your heart out to stain your dress with red memories, red red dark red memories that will always stay there
or the time, perhaps, when you were not freezing because he was there next to you to heat you, because the sound that escaped his speakers were melodies that comforted the both of you through the tidal waves of something larger than you and something able to engulf you with a single blow
but let me tell you how it all ends, how you think you can never go back to the feeling of mistakes when you aren't making any, when you're stuck alone in this big world without talking to anyone because it only causes trouble doesn't it? but it always swings back around and there isn't a cure for it
i could write a million and one essays explaining how i have felt the past two years of my life, how from the moment my thighs were frailer than my wrists to the moment i couldn't fit back into my favourite pair of pants, from the time i first saw all of their brown eyes to the time i last saw them, from the awkward moments in the hall that are filled with void and anger and tension to the moments when i would beg to see them again for just a little bit more, but i have realized that i can never make you get it
the only way to get it is to experience it, and for those of you who understand what i'm talking about, try to get some sleep tonight, try to keep the memories out of your dreams
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 9:46 AM UTC
bitter winds bite
a desperate heart
as early darkness
unsheathes winter's
slivering moon
the perfect
celestial sickle
threatens to thresh
exposed digits
wayward trundlers
heaving bulky
sacks of woe
scutter down
the city's
darkest
side streets
making haste
to the only
lighted room
that still
welcomes them
cots boast
lumpy clots
of errant springs
and jagged hooks
grappling the lodger
atop a mattress
in bumpy knots of
institutional green
coughs and snores
cusses and laughter
sighs and tears
all ceaseless
prayers
some mumbled
some shouted
some thought
some roared
some farted
some cried
some sung
speaking mutely of
the weighty day
resenting new
hard memories
hoping for a
dreamless sleep
Friends Shelter
NYC
12/31/08
jbm
Music Selection: Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers: Moanin
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 9:51 PM UTC
With you I'm at a lack of words but I'll do my best.
Good thing we agree on emotions to fill the rest.
I feel blessed to have been able to meet you
And only you have had the effect on me that you do
Everything you do and say, we seem to blend
It's weird to say, but I could get used to this trend
You deny it all day long
You're gorgeous, you and that fact need to get along
I love how your smile lights up your face
And only can make my heart race
I can't express the way you feel
And the way you make my heart flutter, it's the real deal
But not necessarily in the way you think
Your mind will be in a roller rink
Round and round in circles
I don't want to hear talk of ridicules
You make me happy like I can't explain
Like aerodynamics lift an aero plane
I feel like myself once again
Like how my skin feels when it's hit by rain
It's refreshing like the quench of a thirst
But there is one thing I must say first
You are something special
So amazing it's meeting my thresh hold
You make me want more, bring me to beg for a kiss
I'd drop to my knees for such bliss
The way you look in my eyes
Brings me up more than any of my highs
The connection we share
The way you care
I'm blown away
And here I lay
Wondering what you're thinking
Trying to be smooth with winkings
I can't believe how hard I try to impress you
The feel of your lips and my urging, it's true
I can't help but think about it
I don't need mapquest to map it
I know what I'd have to do
But it makes me pause, is this the same feeling by you
I really don't know how to bring this to an end
But it's something I want to explore to no end
What fate has for us in store
I have no idea, just know I want more
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 3:33 AM UTC
"Were it not for imagination, Sir, a man would be as happy in the arms of a Chambermaid as of a Duchess." -- Dr. Johnson
And what of angels, that dream?
The young face reflected on the stream,
More reflection than its living flesh?
From what field does inwadness thresh
Acceptance and vision enough
To know the desolateness of love?
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
A dirtless ditch,
you tongue the plains
and stretch numb arms
in sleeves of ink.
Eroding stone
and carmine vines
claw into shoulders
and dry eyes.
Please heed my words
escape artist.
I would not lie
on withered leaves.
With rope and wall
you cannot climb
so high to fall
and deaden nerves.
Hands tingle now,
needles alive
like clouds and slate
that built the skies.
Throat thresh and whine
at coal-charred mouth
while legs do shine
angelic fright.
Wolves prowl the grounds
to kiss the cheeks
of those they yearn
to eat but twice.
A need for none
is apex sin
that Love does not,
with ease, forgive.
Look up to sky
with smirk alight,
and stretch your arms
so wide.
A stray dog's brow
shows only strength.
There is much hope
for you.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
I awaken in a frozen forest
The frost grips my lungs with icy claws
My face is numb and yet I can feel it burn
Snow covers my skin like a gown
As I sift through the permeating fog
A chilling veil of foreboding demise
The oak and ash trees stand like pillars
A silent kingdom encased underneath aeons of time
I turn my eyes to the sky; greeted by the deepest grey
The snow falls gently to the ground
Covering all these graves and where they lay
Stumbling forth through the brush
The wind howls among the boughs
And there stood the palace
A structure made from the strongest oak
Engraved with the runes of the gods
The doors appear as mirrors but ripple with touch
From within the fire burns bright
Lingering ash fills my senses; attracted to the warmth
Passed the thresh-hold I move
And everything disappears
A lady in white stands before me now
Veiled with what could only be death itself
And from her lips mists the very essence of despair
These are her haunted woods
All around, are reflective crimson pools
Steaming against the bite of the wind
Pools of death, pools of men who came before me
She constructs me a tower to the heavens
And instructs me to stay forever
I will do so, without hesitation
Compelled by the raging fire in her eyes
So, from my frozen tower I watch
The embers paint the blackened skies
An eerie shade of amber, permeated with smoke
The forest is burning
The fire in her eyes was released
From on high, I watch her **** herself
Burning alive, a victim of her own passion
I clutch my chest and find a hole
Dry and empty, just a grotesque cavity
She stole my heart in my sleep
And it lit the fire that destroyed this beautiful place
Now a sanctuary of death
In my tower I'll sit forever
Writhing in endless pain
I killed her with my heart
I killed the lady veiled with ice
I killed the only good to come from my conscious mind
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 4:36 PM UTC
I'm not going down without a fight.
I'm ready for War.
This battle-zone is afire.
My plane isn't going down with both wings ripped apart.
Blood on my face, water flow on a short night.
I'm not falling in battle with this purple heart.
The stray shells and the firing lines, lock and load, no man left behind.
When push comes to shove, and you look in the other man's eyes, all you will see is yourself, so do you want to live and let him die?
When the muzzle leads to the shovel, who will bury the last?
Bleached bones, blackened skin, torn flesh among the rubble.
It means nothing to me...
Flag half mast.
Watching my friends die can't cause me pain anymore.
I can't let them recover while the enemy is reloading on the other shore.
Nothing means anything like it did before.
A race to the finish where both sides lost. If we never fought, we wouldn't have to win a war.
The deafening sound of exploding cores falling from the sky, I screamed for no more.
I lived while I watched the whole world die...
When the devastation is over, turn the sword into a scythe.
Let children reap and thresh a fresh new world.
It will only begin though when I die.
And only if they try.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 1:19 AM UTC
Catching semiotic holdings from a cow-licked brain ****
Matching periodic scoldings, from a plough of picked-plain art
Filled prescription left for digestive tracts dissolution
Milled conscription cleft as congestive cracks merge in illusion
Temporal reconstruction, as the Adderall seeps into place
Federal distribution, as the admiral heaps the case
Welled as the spineless listen to a cautionary thought
Held as a timeless vision of a stationary plot
Pillbox running on fumes, causing fresh hysteria to solidify
Paradox coming, dawn looms, pausing thresh, staging an area to demystify
Later, new levy forbids pawing fear, spoken rotten, a deloused baiting sound
Cater to heavy lids, drawing near the cotton housed waiting ground
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
I fear nothing this ah war for souls
They get no better nails and I’m counting my goals
Was ah thresh hole how much can you handle
I hid up in your hood C Rock is ah vandal
Nightmares he seen the eyes of ah dragon
In the fifty-nine Chevy call me baby blue wagon
It get deeper I’m the grifo with caper
You ah played out beeper and my cell is the sleeper
Cutting throats we could meet in the trench
Cause when it be your turn in hell you will burn
He gon’ return more people I drown
Enslave with the music know you feeling me now
You wish to enter the ******* point
This ah dream state where the subjects in mode
Bad place you could end up missing
I slay for the hunger with the murderous vision
I got ah crime on my mind that I haven’t committed
But I’ma execute it with some soldiers that’s with me
We hit Lakes and **** with their bricks
Their ten key piddles of that AZ ****
I got ah crime on my mind that got me living
Like I said on L.A times the unforgiven
Hard hitting in this music busi.
Location unknown but I’m running this *****
Ese dead to the world I’ma tell ah terror
With the skeleton key unlock ah new era
Full of rage from the first four albums
Homie see the laughing corpse playing with the revolver
I emerge from the fall of mountains of madness
C.O.N the baddest make ah enemy vanish
Candles burn for endless nights
You see highs from the pen and this is why
The rebel violence ******* solve
From the steel gold shells on the ground they ball
The decor body dead on the floor
He screamed like ah ***** but the city ignored
No report that’s why she died
Thirteen bullets out the corner of my eye
Then five past twelve you said goodbye
Rest in **** muthufucker but I got no reply
I got ah crime on my mind that I haven’t committed
But I’ma execute it with some soldiers that’s with me
We hit Lakes and **** with their bricks
Their ten key piddles of that AZ ****
I got ah crime on my mind that got me living
Like I said on L.A times the unforgiven
Hard hitting in this music busi.
Location unknown but I’m running this *****
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 8:14 PM UTC
Mistress of the cliffs
With eyes like lighting
And the rolling thunderous waves crashing down
Just beneath her fingertips
She is Demelza
The Goddess of solidarity and steadfastness
The epitome of emphasis
And the truth behind every last belmaidens wish
Which is of course…
To return to the fields of idleness
Of former youth
To thresh the wheat and kick the chaff
And to walk the surface of the earth
With a joy forgetting the hardships
And the toils of the fast
And so each day
She trudges her way
Though the dark and dull abyss
Until she reaches her new task
And sets herself to another height
For she was born to be mistress of the cliffs
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 11:25 PM UTC
as i thresh
and winnow,
the words of my heart;
anger and scorn,
become chaff
set upon the
blustering winds.
and love remains,
golden seeds
left,
to nourish
and grow
crops of life,
love and laughter.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC