"thunk" poems
1.He’d say anything to get me out of my shell.
2. His pupils are hard, black marbles and I want to flick him off of me.
3. He is always shuffling through women like they are a deck of cards.
4. It’s just how the dice rolls.
5. I was afraid of falling, of my arms snapping like wishbones.
6. He waits until I’m swaying like a door hinge.
7. My eyes are wide like 8 ***** and he hits me with that same click, roll, thunk of a pool ball table.
8. You are cursing me. When you yell, you are cursing me.
9. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…”
10. I hope the bruises on your legs turn into birds. I hope you get out of here.
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 9:31 PM UTC
The first suicide hit like a bullet
BANG
One of us dead, and at his own hand
The tension in the hallways filed into the ears of all those who walked
through its thick silence
It was a struggle to move through the heavy weight of a quiet hallway
People cried, whether they knew him or not
Teachers made promises,
“It’s worth it,” he said “I swear to you, it’s worth it.”
A moment of silence for the boy who is no longer living,
Whose hidden pain was known by none
Whose family will never be the same
Whose future which once was mystery, is nothing but imaginary
The second suicide hit like a rock
THUNK
The hallways rang with growing confusion,
At every turn, each whisper faded into the next in a mirage of sadness
But mostly confusion
Letters were handed out, but there was no time for more tears and
speeches
They had postponed the moment of silence for the girl who is no longer living,
Whose hidden pain was known by none
Whose family will never be the same
Whose future which once was mystery, is nothing but imaginary
The third suicide did not hit
SWOOSH
It was not silent anymore
There was laughing and talking, as the excitement of yesterday’s
football victory buzzed throughout noisy hallways
The letters were passed out late and no one read them
Teachers continued with their lesson plans
Students continued with their joke making and picture taking
Because people don’t have to keep caring after strike three
There was no moment of silence for the boy who is no longer living
Whose hidden pain was known by none
Whose family will never be the same
Whose future which once was mystery, is nothing but imaginary
This is our dystopia
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
"So the pen is mightier? who'da'thunk'it."
He said to the bleeding man tied down
to a messed, stained, bed.
The bound man figured,
even though he just got
to an LA plagued
by criminals, killers, and copy-cats,
that he wasn't getting out of here whole,
finally.
Holding a pen knife,
red-faced and sweating,
was his captor.
It had been a struggle
to awake and realize
who stood before him:
Quill.
The exact killer he'd been looking for.
He had heard about him in the Halo Herald,
An LA pun, it's not very popular,
but he liked the funny section.
"Are you just going to stand there?"
The bound man says, eagerly,
"Hey bud, you're the hanged man,
I'll do the talking."
"It's about time!"
"huh?"
"I'd been waiting.
heard you'd be at that
open mic. Knew you liked
the mealy type."
"Shuddup or I'll write you off."
Quill runs his pen knife over the bound man's right cheek.
"Stings a little.
Usually, I start with a rufie
and emotional damage.
But it looks like you
want to cut to the chase.
I'm a man of a similar mind.
spirit.
problem."
"Nobody's like me dude."
The bound man locks eyes with Quill.
"What're your trophies? huh?
I read you like to drain your victims,
cook'em dry.
don't you use their blood and powdered remains as ink?
Short stories or something?"
"Oh, an avid reader?! it's your lucky day:
you get to be part of the collection!"
The lamp nearby tumbles
to the floor as Quill lunges,
ready to ****
"Wait! Don't you want to know who I am!"
"Not really."
"I'm a ser-"
The sentence is finished by
nothing but the sound of blood
and air
gurgling
into places it was never meant to be
as Quill's blade passes through flesh.
"Pfft, what, you think you're special?"
Quill saunters over to the sink.
"I'd hate to waste ink.
but there'll be more.
there's always more.
isn't that right, Celine."
he says to no one
and stands there with a smirk
as if listening to her.
Oct 15, 2022
Oct 15, 2022 at 2:22 AM UTC
Have you ever just thought of dreaming?
Of your hopes?
The aspirations that rattle through your head?
Have you ever wondered how you go where you are?
How you managed to get this far?
I'm loosing the thoughts I hold, are you?
Because I've been thinking, Have these thoughts stolen from the limit?
Are we limited on thoughts?
Are we timed for what we have thunk?
By now, you might have wasted your thoughts on this.
A humble child, questioning the world.
You may have wondered if 'thunk' is a word.
Did you?
Or was you scanning, Not absorbing?
That's what writing is for, to escape.
Whether you write or read, it makes you think.
But will it drain your dreams?
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
Our houses, spitting-distance close
Feet propped on railing
cold beer with fresh lime
watching robins flung in flocks
to the failing of August
Too close-- Really?
John, on his cell
is fu_king the world again
from his garage
Why not-- squeeze in pool or a dog
Lawn mowers and **** whips tune in to whine
late Friday afternoon 'bout dinner time
Clinking silver, scrapes of plates
Running water for suds
through open windows to the thunk of pots
Doors bang behind on pathway to garbage
or joint in the woods
wafting over all
wordless squeals of delight from autistic child
Meanwhile, the odor of nail polish removes
all doubts of--
--Gawd!
lodging low and toxic
as the sun dissolves orange
in its acetone setting
Kids playing Man Hunt as darkness falls
Leaping hedges, slamming gates
No yards can contain these kinetics
restless legs, furtive minds
Muttering wind chimes
from four different porches
above the drone of highway
a half mile yawns
Pieces of talk
flipping the crickets
over--
Why or who or at what time?
Other-worldly glow from The Mall
dims stars
outlines mountains
brightens the horizon behind
Mosquitoes coming in for a landing
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
She was 12 years old
She was really bold
and she never did what she was told
one day she was walking down the street when someone came up to her
now she wasn't alarmed
of course because she was strong
but she wasn't strong enough to stop the man when he grabbed her arm
She screamed and kicked and cried for her mom
but that screaming didn't last very long
because she was thrown in to the trunk
she hit the bottom with a thunk
and that little girl
with curly hair
was never seen again
then right down the road
right at the end
a 3 year old girl walked up to the man
and asked where are you taking my friend?
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 8:24 PM UTC
chin resting on two palms,
sprouting totemic archetypes
of good-evil.
watching this passing away...
this double take on: creation/
preservation/destruction.
how moved, how unmoved--
can one become?
one becomes.
scratch to scar the surface, and
existence won't wear signs of
struggle.
though wisdom kills indiscriminately.
your thunk betrayed you with a
breeze.
the latest, of a series of offensive odors.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 12:30 PM UTC
"Mother?" Say the child to it's mom.
"Where, oh where, does the platypus come from?"
The woman smiled, and laughed,
and she told the story of where the platypus did come from.
To her sweet, darling, little one.
Once upon a time, there was a duck. And the duck was alone in the forest, because its family had grown up much too much. So the duck went to look for someone, to make his own little family with. The duck just wanted a place to belong, you see.
So the duck went to the lioness and said 'Miss would you like to make a family with me?' But the lioness was proud and scornful, and turned the duck away.
The duck was sad, of course, but he was much more saddened to think that he'd be alone. So he kept on going until he found a deer. But when he asked the deer, she ruefully claimed she already had a family. And that there was no place for a little duck.
So off he went.
He asked a spider, but the spider had a home.
He asked a walrus, but the walrus couldn't be bothered.
He asked a cat, but the cat just laughed.
It came to a time when the duck had asked just about everyone in the forest if they would love him. But right as he was about to give up he came across a stream, and in there a beautiful little otter was there waiting for him.
'Oh wow... uh' the nervous duck said, 'What are you doing there?'
'I'm looking for a way to make a home,' She said, 'I've been looking all day because I'm all alone and quite lonely.'
The duck swaddled and gleefully said.
'Well I don't know if you'll have me, but if there's no one better, you can take me in your stead?'
'But otters and ducks don't go together,' The otter complained.
'And why not? You're a little better under water and I'm a bit better on land. I think we could make a good team!'
'The forest will never accept us,' she continued, but--
'Will you?' The duck interjoined.
The otter sat there puzzled for a moment, and simply said,
'I'll try.'
"And it wasn't easy, my dearest little one. Love never is. It springs up in unexpected ways, and finds you caught unawares. You may find your love in a place you never would have thunk. But it is out there, if you're willing to search for it. I promise you that much."
"But... wait, mom! Where did the platypus come from?"
"Ah. Of course. The duck and the otter went on to have many children, a platypus each and every one. The result of their love was the perfect child, someone who could combine the best of them, and someone who could finally make them a home."
"Wow... mom, that is amazing! I wish I could be a platypus!"
"Hmm? But didn't you know, little one? The otter in that story is me, and you're my perfect little platypus who gave us our lovely little home."
The Mother embraced her child,
as the duck watched at the door, happily forlorn.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 4:43 AM UTC
I am searching,
let that be known.
Searching for a lost goddess,
nursing her ***** bottle.
I would recognize her,
even if she looked nothing like herself.
Because she would be
the one with her head held high,
even though she can barely walk.
She would be the one,
whom you thunk knows nothing of pain.
But think again,
or even better,
search for a bottle of ***** marked with red lipstick.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 9:24 AM UTC
I
Icy fingers wrap around
my legs and arms. They
sink their daggerlike nails
into my skin, and force
me to go to places
that I shouldn't be
Thick polluted smoke
enters my lungs, and
fills them with the
darkest tar. I cough
and spew out words
that I shouldn't say
Slimy tendrils slither
into my ears and wrap
around my brain. They
snake into the crevices
of the gray matter, and
force disturbing thoughts
to the surface of my mind
It's the Devil, my dear
who spits out poisonous
barbs that make you cry,
Not me.
It's the Devil, my love
who stares at you with
those cold red eyes,
Not me.
It's the Devil, mon cherie
who whispers sweet nothings
that always turn to cold lies,
Not me.
Don't you know I love you, babe?
II
Please forgive my insincerities
It's not me at all, you see
There's a devil controlling the things that I do
and wouldn't you know it, he's not fond of you
He made me take a gander of the lass with the cans
It was all him when I forgot our dinner plans
Don't blame me when I stumbled in drunk
He likes tequila, who would've thunk?
When our ********** session was somewhat abrupt?
He was the reason I was forced to erupt
When foreplay became no play, who else can I blame?
He's bad at back rubs, and we'll toss just the same
He's crass and uncaring and remarkably rude
He's insensitive, boorish and unimaginably lewd
He's not me, my dear, of that much I'm sure
I'm wonderful, loving, tactful, and pure
So the next time you're thinking of starting a row
for something I've done, or something I've blown
Take a deep breath and look into my eyes
and maybe catch a glimpse of the devil inside
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 10:16 PM UTC
It was late into the night
When Bert Ernie and I
Were traveling across the plans of Nebraska
Much to my surprise
Bert looks me straight in the eyes
And says Mike, I gotta question to ask ya
With Big Bird wrapped up in the trunk
You'd think that he'd already thunk
About this night long before it already happened
When we took Oscar the Grouches can lid
And whacked Big Bird smack dab in the head
Then tied him up tight while he was napping
We rolled him out to curb
Believe me it looked quite absurd
Ernie grunting with Bert complaining as feathers went flying
But as would be our fate
Able to make our planed escape
When Count Von Count took time out to do some feather counting
So this is now where we are
Bert, Ernie, Me, and Big Bird in the trunk of our car
Not really knowing where it is we are heading
Our thinking went only as far
As nabbing Big Bird and the get away car
Putting Ernie in charge wasn't such a good idea is what I am betting
Ernie says he's figured it all out
Bert says we need this, but still has his doubts
Cause Bert owes back pay alimony and Ernie his ******
We head to Ernie's planed drop off spot
And of course it's swarming with cops
While our inside man " The Monster " gave us up for Cookies
They let Big Bird out of the trunk
Who proceeded to slap us punch drunk
Then straight to the judge to pay for this hideous crime
I can't think of any worse fate
I now know this was a fatal mistake
The sentence...
Banished to Sesame Street for life, now that is hard time
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
An unrequited love that still offers a seemingly patronizing hand of rapport
Is just another way to say "friend zone"
But you'll be dancing in the end zone
After you finally pay your student loan with money from the job you needed a degree to get which called for the loan in the first place
The salt has spilled off the Lazy Susan
Throw it over your right shoulder
Is this my alter ego?
Or do I have a split personality
Maybe this is my light skinned doppelganger
I've got to get these bats out of the belfry
I've got claustrophobic, roided-out butterflies in the pit of my stomach
Busted paper thin lips
A blood sport
Stop it from clotting
Vaccinate me
This vacuum is a rare find
The national demographic is going through culture shock
Assume a surname
Put on the gargantuan pennant
Go to the pulpit and beg for penance
Gridlock
The paleophone is cracked
Study the topography
And pay the bus fare
The squatters who are on borrowed time
Take a swig from the half empty bottle
After searching their whole lives for an even break
But are forced to cut ties and make a clean cut from society
All the lent hands and ears
Are lodged between ungratefulness and exclusive pity parties
Sweet nothings and forget-me-nots
Do a clean sweep
It's imperative to have a method to your madness
A portrayal of eccentric narcissist
Painting self-portraits
While on some kind of wonder drug
Longing for some moral support
Double-dealing
Double crossing
A hypocritical traitor
Who has the right away
I will watch your blood coagulate around the bullet holes
As your body goes into Rigor mortis
I will commit this picture to memory
I would have bet dollars to doughnuts that it wasn't you
But who wudda thunk it?
It's all just an impromptu turn on a dime
That encumbers you with cabin fever
When you're on display in a human zoo
Where unproductive bull sessions are a dime a dozen
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
HANGING WITH THE GALLO(W) BROS.
Coked out
Strung out
Flipped out
Had my share of friends
Blow their brains out
But still I went back out
And hung out with the Gallo brothers
And the drunks and the druggies and the homeless and the insane
Downtown at two in the morning.
Little did I know,
The Gallo Brothers were leading me to the gallows
Dead woman walking
Hanging out with them,
I was killing myself slowly
Too cowardly to flat out pull the trigger and get it done with,
I just squeezed it a bit
With two, three, four visits a day
From the dynamic dastardly duo.
Sometimes we hung out at Sutter Home
I remember the plastic thunk of bottles
In my purse on the way there.
The glass-laden Gallo Brothers sometimes made a bit too much noise
When stealth was called for,
So no one else would catch on to what I was doing.
So no one would catch onto the feelings I tried burying,
The demons I tried to drown,
Who were squeezing the life out of me
Feeling horrible, unworthy
Always going back on my misery.
Tremors, delirious
Delirium tremens
So shaking I can’t even double-fist
A single can of soda
I reached for the only help I’ll accept
I grabbed on tight to their hands
Even though my body turned it down
Rejecting, ejecting
Spewing, spitting their help
Back in their faces
“I wish I knew how to quit you”
My body told them
But the Brothers were a violent lot
Beating me into submission
When my mind was under their influence
Sometimes I’d do the craziest ****
For friends who didn’t know better,
Didn’t have my best interests at heart
Were -bent on my personal destruction.
Talk about peer pressure!
Doing, saying things I normally wouldn’t!
They made me go against the grain of everything decent and good about me.
Some friends just aren’t worth having
I learned that lesson the hard way
Cutting ties with the Gallo Brothers...
The hardest thing I ever did!
But... the only way to keep Dead Woman Walking
From becoming Dead Woman Hanging around
at the morgue instead of the Gallo Brothers’ house.
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 12:32 PM UTC
There’s a specific rhythm to dancing
which only a dancer knows.
The thrill of a strong jump,
or a good pointing of the toes.
A tap of pointe shoes on the floor
where usually sounds a thunk,
or the success of a hard spin
when you thought you’d run out of luck.
Feb 22, 2021
Feb 22, 2021 at 3:52 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, to be rich is to notice the fair from the unfair:)
get well soon only
when hope not a lie lonely
hospital cell
unavailable played dead and fell
nothing in sequence
all hung on the adequacy
paper said
from future penholder skies unread
the green one too
to the land a stranger soon
what you earn is what you keep
don't count just drown in oblivious sleep
wallets light
rage blinds visible sights
the poor scream
the rich gleam
like an invisible ink flood
evaporation in the air a silenced blood
chocolate missed the ecstasy
everything shut down to reality
bones shrunk
never unnoticed to the think thunk
now things are pale
even the best bread is stale
how I remain
all calm in shameful disdain???
needs become old
whether blazing summer or winter ******* cold
and in my broken chair I be
the pathetic dreamy version of old me
------ravenfeels
Jul 12, 2021
Jul 12, 2021 at 2:59 AM UTC
Leading sounds of spring
Are now preceding the season.
Scattered platoons of yardmen
clunk aluminum ladders
that thunk debris littered roof gutters,
bang a size range of galvanized nails
into an exterior catalogue of materials
needing attentive appending.
The leaf blowers, the leaf blowers
exhausting NASCAR level roars
attempting to push back
last fall/winter into their calendared slots.
And the first nice day Harleys
rumble distantly along the gorge road below.
Mar 15, 2012
Mar 15, 2012 at 2:50 PM UTC
You, to me, run like clockwork.
Which is to say:
In sections , your insides spin at insidious speeds, whirring a blur of gold silver copper gold silver copper-
In others, they crawl, wrestling, pushing, heaving, scraping and screeching.
A cacophony of cogs, the crashes spark thoughts.
Thoughts that think of everything,
Thoughts that think your mate can sing
Thoughts you thunk when you where drunk,
Thoughts you think you thought you’d thunk,
Thoughts that form into ideas,
Thoughts that show eternal fears.
Thoughts you thought you thought you’d thunk,
Thoughts you think you thought you’d thought but nought comes to mind about the thought you thought you’d thought about thinking the thought you’d thunk,
Thunk, Thunk , Clunk.
These lighting shards that shatter and glow,
They seem to know which way to go.
Conjoin with fractured other parts,
To hold together another heart.
But all they see, is a calm face.
That subtly shifts from day to night.
So unaware of any fright.
Tick, tick, tock.
You are the all encompassing
Incomprehensible complex
A never ending clockwork
Spinning deeper and deeper
Swirling deeper, deeper
Twirling, deeper, deeper, deeper
Dirt and diamond and daisies and you,
Contain all in life i know to be true.
Clockwork you.
Jan 21, 2022
Jan 21, 2022 at 11:15 AM UTC
Sobriety,
with regards to me,
who would've thought I'd've thunk it.
Cavalier,
*** wine or beer,
if you gave me a drink I'd've drunk it.
Alternatively,
a biscuit with tea,
and I'll contemplate life while I dunk it.
Mar 15, 2021
Mar 15, 2021 at 7:25 AM UTC
I found a man of great Tilly stock,
And asked him for a frilly walk,
Unto which he said he’ll tell
The way to Heaven and the way to Hell.
“Pimply weaves of basket bread,
And a golden goose upon the head;
Let it squawk with plumpy feathers
With that you’ll relinquish worldy tethers.”
Frowned up in loofy days,
“Sir tell me of your ghangly ways!”
I loosed and cried; simply confused
“Worry not my sun and moon your muse!
For water is a half-penny to a tree,
And snickle-snacks don’t sell for free.
Yet if you must know of my tale,
Then sit there yonder and make a trail.”
However Sir, I am not meek
I have no cunning for the week.
“Your tale I do not wish to know,
Simply tell me which way to go!”
Crimpets high and yellow traps,
“You’ll lose yourself with the bats.
Go up; go down with nickle fritz,
Beware to lose yourself upon the blitz
For in rush and haste there in gleeb,
Wear ignorance for the trancy steed.
I let loose of many brumble yunk,
To sail for seas I never thunk
Yet wax and wane for waves ah-do,
And loose bracknees in multitude.
Traverse tall grass and shundy groves
And you’ll lose those things you thought you loathe.”
“My oh my old man I sigh,
For those things be near nor nigh.”
And with that I give my sullen reply
And turned and a bid a fair goodbye.
Yet upon reminiscence I bade in lye,
And whim my eye not to cry.
For in the tall tale of thy,
Taught I was to live; not die.
Question not a method sly.
But he mumbled and grumbled,
Though he never stumbled.
Living for him he never frumbled.
Many days he spent catching geese,
Upon a head knit with fleece.
OH! I should have let him talk; not cease
For to iron a book you can use yeast.
Heaven to Hell dived by two,
Heed the old man and crux with yew.
And ewe and ewe will catch the flu
Sheep don’t lead in a society so true.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
i took some time to think
and what it is i thunk
double time inside my mind
is i don't think enough
whether on this side of smooth
or the other side of rough
is mostly what i thought it was
when it was i thunk
when i'm on the brink of think
my mind in overdrive
thinking what i thunk i thought
is what i thought this time
mercy sakes alive
goodness gracious please
now that i've thunk all of this out
why do i even think
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 5:42 PM UTC
Here a labored writer sits
On a porch without a light
Sipping on empty wine glasses
And thieving from the night
I’ll take the star from the dark
I’ll steal that ghostly chill
I’ll even think the thoughts you’ve thunk,
(Especially the ones you ****
I’ll creep inside the books you wrote,
(The quiet thoughts you’ve found)
I’ll lift the words right off your lips,
Steal the secrets of the sound
I’ll read the lines you wrote
(In a low yet steady mumble)
Then I’ll spew your thunder,
With no credit to your rumble
And from the shadows edges
With their crisp yet subtle blur
I’ll trace my fingers round until
I see their insides stir
So when your train goes off
And disintegrates in your head
Know it was not a fleeting thought,
Just a gaunt thief getting fed.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC
Cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
"Come get some
***********
Cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
"That's right,
uh-huh"
Cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
click
thunk,
click
thunk,
****
a freaking jam!!!"
Vrooooop,
tap
tap
tap,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
"Wooooooooooooo,
woooooooooo"
Cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
cha-chink
clink,
"Ammo......
MORE AMMO!!!"
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
Bored of these games
Screwball scrabble your monopoly
I'll take the risk not pass go or bow to authority
I wanna Poke your face with a hot poker
Just to see your poker face
I might just be a pawn but the queen's I have to chase
And who would of thunk
I lost all my marbles
When I went and played kerplunk
My battle ship sunk
And it's now not the rope swing
I want hang from that tree trunk
So check mate this was my only first draughts
The mouse has been trapped warhammer's looking for a blood bath on the warpath
So don't go and pin the tail on the donkey
Coz' you might get a buckaroo though
But look for the clue'do
And you might find more
But only if your a hungry hippo and can find the hidden meanings in theese words and connect all four
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:44 PM UTC
When we're drunk
We're crunk, we're crunk
We think what we
Normally thunk
We sink when we normally
Sunk
When we're drunk
We're crunk, we're crunk
Don't obey
Rules of the road
Head home, old toad
Splat pavement, release vibes
Sentence to years
Steer with queers
Aim with binoculars
Sinister ears
Figure it's time
Never you mind
We'll eventually rhyme
That which you dine
Don't forget
It's all regret
Take advantage
Before yet
Take it home
Alone
Beast, Seize!
Sniff, Sneeze!
Don't queeze
Just please
Soft tease
Ease fees
Simple trees
Free frees
Cold winds
Blow fins
Towards Marylands
Trickle In
Calm fore
Better store
Ancient ore
Often sore
When we're drunk
Never more
Hangover
Blow chunks
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC