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"truncated" poems
I knew the orange on the orange tree you had an ache in your shoulders uncomfortable in an unnatural way yesterday I passed you talking to flowers you hadn't moved you hadn't strayed but hiding in the leaves was a forced disguise the omens told me something quiet and unceasing reminding me of a slumbering domesticated cat dreaming of cutting yourself loose from truncated ease dropping down from the branch with panther steps licking fruit lips ripe with revealed acidic petals riddled with a past you revelled mixing in with zest shocking chances stepped in for the next dance sleep taken aback by wings cut from a dark sky the sidewalk pitted and cracked beneath the pounce relief escaped the twigs with a spring like waking prey pressing into night foliage shaken from a nice balance as I saw you take control with nothing to mask your face on the surface too smooth for violence was laughter of glowing gloom to embarrass and deter such rebellious arrogance with a twist struggling from a lame curse its flavours sharp against your sweetened perfume muscle expecting you to build a limestone shed for tears rather than take on the night with a mind to wrestle the outside aches for your physical attraction gaining courage from the purpose in your eyes tense as the tightness of your dress' intention demanding that my hands draw from such lines the sinuous heat of pulsing flesh's invitation curved upon seeds not chaste but not quite refined which I try not loving with some cool disambiguation you left me the taste of syrup of grenadine too reputable to ripple vain red tipple eyed on a table spilt with pink gin and mandarin sharp teeth tingling a tartness into my hand sliding slowly at a tilt like drops of sweat on skin focus dwindling into the clasp of an escaping shade wrapped carefully under soft rice paper and then tucked under a heel with a pointed kick like a blade only to feel you relent and burst open soft in appeal again and again
0
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC
Orange Drops
I knew the orange on the orange tree you had an ache in your shoulders uncomfortable in an unnatural way yesterday I passed you talking to flowers you hadn't moved you hadn't strayed but hiding in the leaves was a forced disguise the omens told me something quiet and unceasing reminding me of a slumbering domesticated cat dreaming of cutting yourself loose from truncated ease dropping down from the branch with panther steps licking fruit lips ripe with revealed acidic petals riddled with a past you revelled mixing in with zest shocking chances stepped in for the next dance sleep taken aback by wings cut from a dark sky the sidewalk pitted and cracked beneath the pounce relief escaped the twigs with a spring like waking prey pressing into night foliage shaken from a nice balance as I saw you take control with nothing to mask your face on the surface too smooth for violence was laughter of glowing gloom to embarrass and deter such rebellious arrogance with a twist struggling from a lame curse its flavours sharp against your sweetened perfume muscle expecting you to build a limestone shed for tears rather than take on the night with a mind to wrestle the outside aches for your physical attraction gaining courage from the purpose in your eyes tense as the tightness of your dress' intention demanding that my hands draw from such lines the sinuous heat of pulsing flesh's invitation curved upon seeds not chaste but not quite refined which I try not loving with some cool disambiguation you left me the taste of syrup of grenadine too reputable to ripple vain red tipple eyed on a table spilt with pink gin and mandarin sharp teeth tingling a tartness into my hand sliding slowly at a tilt like drops of sweat on skin focus dwindling into the clasp of an escaping shade wrapped carefully under soft rice paper and then tucked under a heel with a pointed kick like a blade only to feel you relent and burst open soft in appeal again and again
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42
*rocks don't care all stubble and stones a difficult geometry so if they don't fit they are hammered and crushed to rubble jammed together to make virile walls and if stabbed with swords care not about torn bellies and broken necks soaking them crimson rust or drowned nautilus beneath the sea humans have futility in common with rocks except that everything girds and gnaws at their belligerent sensitivity all clouded soft towers bi-pedal mortal spires with tender flesh beaten into place lacerated truncated amputees to fit the outer life of status and statues a scandal to the inner coves of self I'm envious of rocks except for moments of shifting watery kisses clamorous for love we remain disfigured terrains hunters of souls balmy unguents while fluctious immolating moons unravel in a hidden grieving oh countenance of apathy only to be more like you a wilderness of stumps and dead rock gods and our aspiration indifference our exit the path of the renunciate a penitence feasting only on futility and the vagaries of spirit*
0
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 2:36 PM UTC
THE FUTILITY OF ROCKS
At the money table, Cain and Abel, Abraham and Isaac, And neither one cares how you’ll pay as long as it is not a check, Brassy appendages obversely curl to abruptly angular truncated legs-upon-his-lek, And the proof of who he represents hangs weightily about his Plouton neck, See the cotton-wafer stacks shuffled as bricks in rows to the translucent deck, The waiver now giving its woe whence once wished-for upon the Great Molech? Mr. crooked hook-nose at his compose will take on any bet, As Sheol will have it, many lament, being in his debt, A Canaan cursed and tribal descendant, the relative of Set. For with misery and suffering well you get what you beget!
0
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
The Gamble
I am cab ma, please don’t! Is I, lass, I who brought scald without such pains. I am mumbling coherently a ****** most apparently. Phospholipids leave envelope area soon endoplasmic doom. Opened neutral taste I’m sinking in laughing at something sunken in. What hell overwhelm brings ribosome organelle use geared hither, tell? Seceded certain atoms like Democritus withdrew incursion. Truncated heavy organelles under tissue systems use cycles. Half polypeptide accents intergenetic nuclear spaces.
0
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
Acrostic Haiku
*he says: I want to hear the sun.. on me* 1. cover the width of a personal compostela the yellow-and-black bird flitting branch to branch endless square patterns of light half-cut into shades of green and slant oblique 2. making headway now companions on the path passing by auburn creature with lolling tongue             looks with such kind eyes             glittering diamonds             sun sits on tip of wet nose he seems to be saying something... some evanescent message thoughts are ventilated tones of silence seep in wild flowers in amaranthine bloom sway in nature's perpetual dance always moving 3. what happens to arboreal ghosts when we prove efficiency by cutting the arms of living trees           and with it extended family of foliage? monk passes slow nods in quiet greeting a bare half-smile    enough to reach    yet just truncated enough maybe to prune is needed / 4. how many more steps to tread before the why becomes clear? trod so far sought so wide read so much travelled so intense this journey alone proves so arduous 5. alone... struggled with hidden pain he discovered beneath the layers of happiness.... suffered hunger and thirst along the way.... washed in ***** rivers with no soap.... had to clean his **** with dusty leaves in the eve.... and remembering to eat what to eat...but berries in the dark and he cried, oh how he cried from a place no man should see such a dark place demented and wicked souls at the doorstep of hell would shrink at but first in order to do all that he had to wrestle with himself and die inside he could no longer fail to consent no wistful little prayers or wide-eyed flower-eyes nor awe born in luxury yet for all that... 6. in a little while you will get what you want if you give enough people what they want pray in secret in the sun *the boy with the Jesus sandals walks on his journey has begun*.... S T, (thursday:) 4 July 2013
0
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
the boy with the Jesus sandals
*he says: I want to hear the sun.. on me* 1. cover the width of a personal compostela the yellow-and-black bird flitting branch to branch endless square patterns of light half-cut into shades of green and slant oblique 2. making headway now companions on the path passing by auburn creature with lolling tongue             looks with such kind eyes             glittering diamonds             sun sits on tip of wet nose he seems to be saying something... some evanescent message thoughts are ventilated tones of silence seep in wild flowers in amaranthine bloom sway in nature's perpetual dance always moving 3. what happens to arboreal ghosts when we prove efficiency by cutting the arms of living trees           and with it extended family of foliage? monk passes slow nods in quiet greeting a bare half-smile    enough to reach    yet just truncated enough maybe to prune is needed / 4. how many more steps to tread before the why becomes clear? trod so far sought so wide read so much travelled so intense this journey alone proves so arduous 5. alone... struggled with hidden pain he discovered beneath the layers of happiness.... suffered hunger and thirst along the way.... washed in ***** rivers with no soap.... had to clean his **** with dusty leaves in the eve.... and remembering to eat what to eat...but berries in the dark and he cried, oh how he cried from a place no man should see such a dark place demented and wicked souls at the doorstep of hell would shrink at but first in order to do all that he had to wrestle with himself and die inside he could no longer fail to consent no wistful little prayers or wide-eyed flower-eyes nor awe born in luxury yet for all that... 6. in a little while you will get what you want if you give enough people what they want pray in secret in the sun *the boy with the Jesus sandals walks on his journey has begun*.... S T, (thursday:) 4 July 2013
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88
deepest length, a truncated obesity, abruptly gradual: a stem pops gently to present colors damp. a pavilion of ugly columns, the streets a budding promise; akimboing in gross pleasure. and the jostling laughter of serious music says to languor apathy a locomotive steeply belching roses. . . ?
0
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 11:32 AM UTC
Untitled
chains rattle and hiss they slide and slither around my feet poisonous serpents i cannot escape twisting my steps into unknown paths foiling my legs, movements truncated falling to my knees, they climb screaming, incoherent rage, wordless struggles and they whisper whisper whisper WHISPER of codes and consequences of right and wrong breathless i scream in silent wrath jaw distended, creaking they wrap up my unsaid words force their way down my throat chaining tight my beating heart beating beating beating bea.... Peace.
0
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
Chains
On the flipcharts and billboards and boardwalks where cash talks and greed stalks the unwary and where the darkness is scary, huddled underneath moonlight that fades into the long night and holding on tight to their bedrolls along with the soup and the bread rolls and the mission bell tolls for the end of round one. 'On top of the world ma' look how far we have come, and the nanny state looks after its favourite son but as the sun sets on Wapping and the 'mint set' go shopping for some the world's stopping. (I want to alight) The sun sheds some light as the night flicks away and for those who would lay in the doorways of shop fronts,who we think of as stunt men,the cut off,truncated and blunt men another day starts. And in Whitehall they call for the tea trolley at nine. A fine time for some and the nanny state looks after its favourite son.
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Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 2:44 AM UTC
More Smiley's people.
I will cultivate thee, With my Herculean word spree. Pour my divine rhyme, Into your truncated mind. So profound, so intellectual, how can this be? Revere me! Revere me!
0
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 11:47 AM UTC
Pretension
The Acolytes come marching in and out and in, out again Minds befuddles, rationalities amissing, fully indoctrinated Pathetic Dogs of Attrition dressed all in white, all in pain Compulsive obsessives, neurotics primed and oxygenated Scrappers at the bottom of the barrel wants unlawful gain By hook or crook is their recourse, to that they are mandated From rhetorics long gone and ideologies forged in days of rain Our intrepid Confused and Acolytes are soundly medicated Just march to left, left, left, left and we will ease all your pain Recognize that the enemies are those that think and are educated They all claim domain at the top, with kudos, status and fame While you languish in closed barrels, your poor lives truncated Those Bosses are all there because they are all Masonic inclined Doctors, lawyers and Professionals paid cash for Degrees granted They did no work or study, rich Daddies just paid so they claim All those Entrepreneurs are Robbers who bankraid unarrested Because the Police are all masonic and help/share in all the gain The Royals are  Top Mafiosas, with International links atested So Dumb Acolytes Know the truths and fall with the wise in line We must regain Power and march left, left so we're not left in vain The republic shall live because it's 21 Century and we wake in time We take all from the Secret Society and cut off all our iron chains Begin by taunting, tormenting and harassing that ****** Wayne The ****** Prince is the African Mafia Chief and Exploiter kingpin Sing with me everybody Viva la Revolution, viva la Revolution We are clever, all in our White uniforms We march to the left left left with our two left feet We know our brains have left us but we go left left Viva la Revolution, Viva la Revolution, Viva la Jinbba. Hey! jinbba, jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbba Sing.........
0
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:09 AM UTC
To The Left...Quick March.....
The Acolytes come marching in and out and in, out again Minds befuddles, rationalities amissing, fully indoctrinated Pathetic Dogs of Attrition dressed all in white, all in pain Compulsive obsessives, neurotics primed and oxygenated Scrappers at the bottom of the barrel wants unlawful gain By hook or crook is their recourse, to that they are mandated From rhetorics long gone and ideologies forged in days of rain Our intrepid Confused and Acolytes are soundly medicated Just march to left, left, left, left and we will ease all your pain Recognize that the enemies are those that think and are educated They all claim domain at the top, with kudos, status and fame While you languish in closed barrels, your poor lives truncated Those Bosses are all there because they are all Masonic inclined Doctors, lawyers and Professionals paid cash for Degrees granted They did no work or study, rich Daddies just paid so they claim All those Entrepreneurs are Robbers who bankraid unarrested Because the Police are all masonic and help/share in all the gain The Royals are  Top Mafiosas, with International links atested So Dumb Acolytes Know the truths and fall with the wise in line We must regain Power and march left, left so we're not left in vain The republic shall live because it's 21 Century and we wake in time We take all from the Secret Society and cut off all our iron chains Begin by taunting, tormenting and harassing that ****** Wayne The ****** Prince is the African Mafia Chief and Exploiter kingpin Sing with me everybody Viva la Revolution, viva la Revolution We are clever, all in our White uniforms We march to the left left left with our two left feet We know our brains have left us but we go left left Viva la Revolution, Viva la Revolution, Viva la Jinbba. Hey! jinbba, jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbba Sing.........
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32
Heart's cover sealed in burgeoning prime Fading leaves folded in the book of time Follicles of love blanched on the pages sublime Billowy blades dulled with eroding sands that modulate and slime Bleached, seamless threads spliced in the deep recesses of my mind Glossy words overgrown, strangled with thistle and thyme Each, dilated syllable devoid of reason and rhyme Each segment underscored with a stagnating byline Every, amorous allusion deconstructed; devoid of design Each, sterile refrain resounds a doleful chime Remaining, truncated edition a lapsing memory; requited pantomime
0
Aug 8, 2011
Aug 8, 2011 at 8:00 AM UTC
Leafing Through Love's Primordial Book
*I'll swath my cliches in over verbose decadence and ask forgiveness in the morning.* Edging      toeing the fine line in between Fighting to live - or - living to fight in champagne surged soirees of surreptitious allergens Some ******* ballad donning metalcore methods aggressive to a fault      that is to say, earth-shattering unyielding, unwavering, unapproachable un-fucking-believable You, me, they, we, truncated but never forgotten Had but never spent Forgotten but never lost Your name is in my autocorrect with siren songs and call signs from generational grievances, Chivalrous misandry, chorus discord callous Chandeliers swing low like chariots. Samson told us to keep dancing. We were only listening, abreast one another, clad only in our genres. We were so much more until we were lost, but never mattered.
0
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
Verbivore, pt 2
Truncated
0
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
Handed To Obsoletion
what fragments lay in stone and silent wait for sunrise creeping stealthily through dark to back-light marbled forms who knew Petrarch truncated arms which strain to touch and sate a cold and calculated yearning carved in everlasting porous rock compressed as otherworldly beauty barely dressed they stand exposed and gorgeous, proud yet starved to feast on passion's fragments etched inside by sculptors long since sated, fed and dead who pounded love with hammer, chisel, sweat from abstract concept into sanctified emotion pulsing from unbreathing stone; stories bled from humankind alone
0
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 4:35 AM UTC
Gallery
Just take a good look at me; My frame is attractive! It does the unsated appetite of the chauvinist fuel. My curves and your fantasies are mutually inclusive! Without them, dreams are truncated. But I am an ******** symbol. The self opinionated chauvinist designs me in his sub-conscious to serve and be utterly subservient. I am incarcerated as a chef, and timeless baby sitter. A baby machine for a patriarchal dynasty. My education is a threat to chauvinist ego. My ignorance hones his misogynist confidence, whilst my erudite head retards his self esteem and worth. The illiterate ******** symbol is his ideal and virtuous woman. The smarter and more professional is the age-old Jezebel. My chastity and virginity are twin virtues of a mutilated genitalia. My restrained *** urges are designed for his unrestrained proclivities and gratification. I must be restrained, for him to be unrestrained, because, share him I must with two or three others of my kind. But take another good look at me, and see a versatile womb-man! Translate each prejudice of yours' and see my remarkable antonyms.
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Oct 14, 2023
Oct 14, 2023 at 3:23 PM UTC
The Unappreciated Woman
For this tree loves everybody it is bright, it is lovely, it is … short truncated yet hopeful all the colours of the rainbow This tree does not care who you **** or what you put in to which hole This tree has no holes, no cracked old bones just a spectrum, a bole covered in a gentle bark no reprimand, no judgement, an open elemental heart It has no plateau of leaves to offer shelter but it is here and it loves you whether you care for the woods, for the rain or not This tree loves everybody Its bark is deep, it is cracked, it is flawed and though it is aged and short, truncated by fate and the nature of this place it is unbowed echoing all that we hope will come to pass, for this tree is yours it grows all the colours of the rainbow Let it brighten your grey sky grey day Let it remind you that things may yet change Let it smile for you when you can't raise enough brightness inside to chase away all that we've lost, all that we fight for For this tree loves everybody and so can we all, so can we all, so can we all
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Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 3:18 PM UTC
The smiling stump
eye of storm feels good inanely safe cloak of unreality supplanting sense as trap shuts butterfly hovers gently in silken web rests stupidly charmed while harm beckons illusions numb cerebral space battle weary instincts spent on long haul gusts of warning winds ignored as incongruent aberrations unworthy of note but sword will drop mayhem eclipse former state past suspension truncated exposed as raw reality severs dreams barnacled to beguiling specious notion
0
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 6:46 PM UTC
- tales we tell ourselves -
Truth lies like a truncated branch blocking the door of a junkyard mouse's flat. That is a very jarring notion indeed. Hesitant to staying truth, hesitant to lodge; the informed call on past gaze and past phase for their feeding, the new individual perfecting a new utility belt. The new individual may be simple and torn. Torn, because what is considered simple could be pooled in the gap between the wedges at the bottom of the Milo milkshake tetrapack which the straw cannot find no matter how meticulously you jiggle it, despite its stark authority, and you're undecided on   whether you should throw the packet away. Simple, because your motor function, simply put, needs to be less awkward. Does not make my cluelessness at functioning any less true. I was struck immobile because I almost got run over by a mouse (or a rat, I have not googled their difference), but I admire the schoolishness of that terror, its being real.
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Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 1:36 PM UTC
Truth lies like a truncated branch
You need to use vocals To spread a message that is hopeful You need to use vocals To create a point that is focal You need them Like R.E.M. A message from your heart That goes through your brain It can be called quality art Once it reflects inner pain That runs deep through your voice And your lyrical choice You don't need scientists with beakers Or super loud speakers You don't need to make a keynote speech Or grab for things that are out of reach You just need a lesson Taught through confession There are wonderful things done instrumentally But I want to focus on someone instead of me Because thinking through someone else's words Seems more productive Rather than repeating myself so nothing is stirred Which feels somewhat reductive If you have something to say Speak up If you can't find a way Drink up Music based on emotion instead of thought But be careful to not get mindlessly caught Until you're starving From culturally carving Out anything that is strange Until you have a truncated range Of empathetic understanding That's one way of landing On a lame existence For plain persistence Art will always reflect life They share the same plight The best way to communicate Is not to ruminate But to speak with your mouth Before your mind goes south End the depressing deflation Through simple human relation Your gift of pain Becomes my drain My rhythmic refrain From ending this game Please allow me to hear you So I may no longer fear you It doesn't matter if you're not local I'll relate to you through your vocals
0
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 6:23 PM UTC
Vocals
You need to use vocals To spread a message that is hopeful You need to use vocals To create a point that is focal You need them Like R.E.M. A message from your heart That goes through your brain It can be called quality art Once it reflects inner pain That runs deep through your voice And your lyrical choice You don't need scientists with beakers Or super loud speakers You don't need to make a keynote speech Or grab for things that are out of reach You just need a lesson Taught through confession There are wonderful things done instrumentally But I want to focus on someone instead of me Because thinking through someone else's words Seems more productive Rather than repeating myself so nothing is stirred Which feels somewhat reductive If you have something to say Speak up If you can't find a way Drink up Music based on emotion instead of thought But be careful to not get mindlessly caught Until you're starving From culturally carving Out anything that is strange Until you have a truncated range Of empathetic understanding That's one way of landing On a lame existence For plain persistence Art will always reflect life They share the same plight The best way to communicate Is not to ruminate But to speak with your mouth Before your mind goes south End the depressing deflation Through simple human relation Your gift of pain Becomes my drain My rhythmic refrain From ending this game Please allow me to hear you So I may no longer fear you It doesn't matter if you're not local I'll relate to you through your vocals
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54
It hangs off in the far away distance. The flag. We know that its there, we know that it flies. Mired in combustible mixed desire we hum. Because the waving of that flag. We hum. We travel in cars, in packs or alone, the road a private matter. We ride. We ride. It’s out there or in here that all meaning lies about. Meaning to be true. Like the flag. Blood and both stained and unstained tears upon our hills and our valleys. It matters on those hills, a place farther then your own front door. Beyond what you can see. Green, grey, tan and camo curtains shield both sides of the window that brings the breeze. So that the flag can fly its meaning, bold. Where in lies the protector, the guardian the defender of all faith? Where in lies the end of deceit and tyranny and the un-truncated corruption of our power. The flags power? The people power? A dreamers right to dream? Where in lies the protection of souls long ignited by fire and spirits? Where in lies the answer to questions old as the pyramids and bright as the sun?
0
Nov 30, 2009
Nov 30, 2009 at 4:17 PM UTC
Where In Lies -
Feral mood swings give the elastic momentum to soar from the dark dredges, As it was previously unthinkable. From the glorious misanthropic lows, to a euphoric revelry or youth. These golden days are replete with vicious change, The growth plates of potential prosperity ease close with a snide unforgiving sentiment. The bright orifices of the sky plunge into obscurity, Only the imprints leave us dazzled, thinking the dream still holds an office. But the endless chapters are truncated, until the only thing left is the devil's **** or his charity. Bubbling youth to grim compliance.
0
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 10:32 PM UTC
Untitled
. Grasping to the sky With ever reaching Branches, leaves spirit Themselves to sacred Airs.              Old tree, a star set Truncated with sprite earth, Stolid, touchstone spark, Place, feeling all waves Dripping by like clouds. In some underworld, Bathing with Gods, Are immortal roots Divining water, laid In ceremonious soil, Digging out golden, Unfallowed tombs. Old tree in the sun, Great soul barking Skywards each day, Joyous arms clench, Lansing, higher out, Embracing heavens.
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May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 4:49 PM UTC
Old Tree in the Sun
An Eternal Shrugging of the Shoulders I am writing this poem in the dark this is why I apologise to all who will read it some words might overlap others some letters might remain flat I know my message risks to arrive truncated to its addressee for that matter I feel how some lines are liquefying as if my eye itself flows in them presumably in the day when light will come back this page will be a heap of signs a hill lodged by ants or even by more evolved beings capable of praying however, the drama I have lived will remain without a voice the secret I wanted to hand down to you with this poem will be an eternal shrugging of the shoulders Matei Visniec translated by Manuela Chira
0
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 6:12 AM UTC
"At Marx's Table"