Jim Leftwich

Expositions & Commentaries


Sun Ra, Magic City

Juxtaposing two earthbound connections weaves pieces of an ancient railroad track with thoughts considered as boundaries, churning the importance are three with everything, sonic eruptions and frenetic givens. Railroad ties sever weather approximately critical of the outdoor Y-shaped foods, sleeping in the nonstructural commons. Images of frenetic alternatives to cataclysmic power, traditionally intermediaries, unbridled lineage via hybrid barriers, phosphorescence variously psychic. Hieroglyphic lotus returning to terrestrial labyrinth releases the name of a universal war, lifelong against the magical death-machine. The piano borrowed its needs from the grappling architecture, unfurls a scale expanded, fire chants utilizing natural swaddling skyscraper plunge. I dreamed of humans constructing cities like ants making ant hills, like beavers building dams. Gaping. Sun Ra is from Birmingham, Alabama, nicknamed The Magic City because of its rapid growth. Roanoke is called the magic city for the same reason. Magic business financing the Pocahontas coalfields. Geology in fact and jobs, the cows that came from Chicago grew by far, several that rotate, vigilantic, unclear munic workers and overgrown municipalities. Pastoral eyes and the miseries of thousands, schools governments citizens labor and poor those force, lack city communities waiting, proper infrastructures suffering for jobs. Gravity for Sun Ra, bebop harmonious improvised, the future of the world but better than its details. He was born in a discussion of nowhere as radical and untroubled, benevolence explained to mystery, he wore liberation antennae headdresses and third eye spangled masks. Swirls like sails in lightning. Stands up in the aural sunrays like a hat upon a shoe. Twenty-coast acrobatic trumpets in the fireplace. Sprawling five minutes as harsh as outer space on feathers. They don't look like their tongues found in the self-furred lunch abducted, larger than the definition of helmets, names of the vitamin recipe taught in the training manual, spellbinding tombdoor insatiable and nicknamed all in one. Mask on earth, downtown on the stairs, truly consistently radical in unafraid costume and light thus the fact of day. Chords glottis traditional ear bears intervals (eggs) where a consistency of none stands out. 9ths as dissonances, reducing a 9th to a new norm, forms the 11th voice, concave, because its rhythm occurred in the flatted 13th, inversions naturally asymmetric. Listen to the javelin casket solar model staccato arkestra. Music results in rules. Sound uses music to listen to its works.



Lester Young with Oscar Peterson Trio (1954) / Coleman Hawkins Encounters Ben Webster (1959)

For two of the granted took, romanticist blends chair and bone, no more melodic moon beneath the tiger and the fishhook. We felt the environment a febrile verb veering from personal style and shaping the spirit of diversity (which decorates all decades, but perhaps none so much as this one) uncovering old icebergs, spiced, while inventing the snow through which to track us, walking with the stolen beer from the convenience store to our apartment. Pessimism of the intellect, biographies of the will. History begins as a cosmopolitan praxis of history in itself zero parting the unread sea, aftermath worldwide, global air conditioning, affinity groups are increasingly practical realities. Either you like it or you need more time. Postwar results are always epochal, no matter how we view their social changes, wormhole concrete cinema, through the lens of devastation speaking form and insight. Gliding styles are instrumental throughout the war. Collated ball bearings and bailiwicks by this point plumage from the historical abyss, notched piano evidence merging gained unique peers yet spent within osmosis, opting against depression as experience. Spaghetti rings and spare tires are taped to the northern dawn. Republic of granular palindrome graffiti, once again a tardy chimera, wide shoes are the message, the fist is in the salmon. Invoice dire, aardvark, renew the cut-up, precarity, essence, mantra, tidbit, kayak, persona on a sliding scale. Swerve of portal, combined with objective dendrite mode, aggregates melodic interiority. Upon minimal azimuth conic cantilever inverts political landmine, destiny is not as automatic as is a ban on destiny. But, if we are to preserve the tendency to exist in its own trajectory of the fire, then some of the poetry will need to appeal as intersectional. Fragile. Glass. Do not lay flat. Do not drop. Peterson, Kessel, Brown, Heard = a quartet, not a trio. A week for the feet as original interpretation. Photography reinterprets disappearance as expression. Did photography liberate a linear path from its nonexistent equivalent? Please paraphrase this last sentence as a 14-line lyric poem. Illuminating society as a thousand bound discussions. My photography (circa 2009), by way of its between-space, the carrot and the stick of socializing and socialization, as in 1981 (or 1949), forever the torch is arched, forging forth, into the molehill of my indigenous mountains (touch the shoe and it will swell), to conquest in the dark a scope and a spectrum of each act. Each text is marked with a forbidden syntax. It seems unlikely that we are still able to effectively defamiliarize ideas and items we first defamiliarized in the nineteen-teens. Heard over everything, in thought, as if we had hired ourselves in hindsight, to enact an excitement at meeting with new versions of the found.


Rauschenberg, "Cardboards"

Long cardboard biographies reproduce related shapes, nowhere near himself, as freestanding as subtle birds. Rauschenberg alone became a range of necessary materials. Across the archival scholars, compelling within celebrated perspectives, they write when they want to write, gestural in conjunction. Where France figures jointly thoughts are provocative together, familiar and unruly, no narrative easier than the ephemera of these maps. I am imagining you reading this, making notes of my contradictions and cliches. Lively appearances tuned to print abstract radical kitsch (postmodern turn, linguistic turn, U-turn, horseshoe theory, the long sixties circa 1955 - 1975) bony fur, opening to vigorous consistency. Irreverent to the south of Spain one opium major and friend of the salient reception (receptivity, theta), alone and undone, high culture captured (deeply captured) by low culture, middlebrow also uni-brow, bow tie also Merzbow, bowler hat also stocking cap, his forays into Nietzsche notwithstanding, Marcel Duchamp discussing the annual pyrrhic victories of electoral politics, delves into failures, shifting pronoun theories, gambling, punctuating, planting, writing, watching, pacing, pawing, the poetry sweepstakes makes sense of his appropriations, multifaceted styles foaming on the corner. Along with the full coin fuel trove early this proves assemblage, quonset enmeshed, intersected little-known transformative expectations, community themselves among buildings. The ten most watery foregrounded agendas, gardens garnered grand combs on the pestle with corn, corm, guitar wrist doodle leathery jazz, do not forget the history of the stingray, legendary text-refinery, bruxis, delicious ideas in a vicarious music. The broader animated toaster. Neighborhood miscellany matriculated bold forms folded bald Martian Taoism afterimage experientially partial. Shortly thin, phantom expressivity, studying through the portals of conservative biography, mourning analytical birdcage philosophy alongside glue for context, such rectangles as were horizontal, thwarts lesser-known stipend striped, beautifully misleading, down the sidewalk past the agreed-upon restaurant and into a colorful alley, graffiti threatening the overthrow of dominant cultures everywhere. Plain salt top new easy-open plain salt. Miscalculated the gods across multiple gravities. Settling in Black Mountain College with whom he varnished schema, moist triumphal history. Personal energy suggests personal aftermath. Handwritten centuries fascinate new critical quotations. Boring decipher yourself enigmatic with sleeveless my thermonuclear facility, our collaboration explores your constellation, specifically imported recombinations, a spectacle of mediated diplomacy in which everything is on the table, dreary reader of both this and the daily news. Nabisco shredded wheat, 12 10-oz packages, bottom, open other end. What else have you been reading? For a while in the wild world of attention we discussed structures as they orbited and rewrote the spontaneous fabric of sampled lampshade language trailblazing collage shimmering, the waste treatment plant is a bastion of multicultural protagonists. For a moment you suspect me of having a sense of humor similar to your own, but you are once again very seriously mistaken. American art provides an intimate look into our deepest interests. As you were walking, handwritten, on the streets of New York City, its facsimile edition, threatened by style and imminent group-formation, read less, spend $15, use code, working and pop art, like texts, drawing a selfie in a notebook in the 1970s, the pages were filled with politics, clowns, and other creepy observations. Writing opens the nameless mingle. Seeds unravel. Our notebooks are a glimpse into the grave. A house. It is your house. Do not ride your horse into your house. Do not drive your car over the cardboard of Robert Rauschenberg. Lay flat — do not stand on end. Burlington glass fabrics company. Yarns from New England. Identity is a modern discovery evocative of riotous upbringings.


listening to Andrew Hill, Point of Departure (Recorded on March 21, 1964 at the Van Gelder Studio, Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey) on January 16, 2018, at my house on 10th street, in Roanoke, Virginia

describes the open circle in material corners. part octopus, octagon, conflated gall bladder, conflicted, bites the catalogue on the wrist. cut at the noise in the knot, with spaces and depths irritated unto sainthood, abstract details float through the rooms, flat, fiat money relative to a shift in the symmetries of power. boundaries primarily finished.

specific projects at an angle, made while reclining radically in the wind, the angels are natural if reconsidered over your left shoulder. what, exactly, is any privilege designed to provoke? such biome influenza almost miniscule.

we annex our mirrors, and today we live nestled among the aesthetics of reality. reality in vitro I am thinking, neither in quotes nor in parenthesis.

whatever we experience, and wherever we forget it, we are installed in a contemporary version, decidedly our own.

do not forget to exaggerate the developing economy of your will. how do you, in your subjective practice, dislodge the consecutive worlds? do they object? how many? do we, as such? alienation? useless? what about speaking in controversy, as a convex criticality? mutagens? kites? trading-cards found at the post office? a single door, from floor to ceiling? the specificity of synthetic nails? detachment. hostile flutes. situations combined, belated.

language is distinct from reality, beyond its social performativity. piano expanded dance. precarity choreographed conditions commitment. the increasing tedium of discouraging reevaluations.

thinking found in addition to praxis as we delight in its capricious contours.

do not forget subjective assaults on criticality. do not forget to combine the floors. practice alienation. mutagens are belated by definition. it is useless to exaggerate a dislodged specificity. our reality is a causal appearance, neon-similar edge and barely false. expressed today between standard nutrients.

the difficulty of eyes point of departure down the middle elongated arrangements authentic and artificial, wandering their triangulated horizons, temporal wordplay consists only of surfaces. horse is hose a sort of dirt not entirely for no reason.

5:18 PM


listening to Andrew Hill, Black Fire (Recorded on November 9, 1963 at the Van Gelder Studio, Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey) on January 16, 2018, at my house on 10th street, in Roanoke, Virginia

inside the car is a dog and inside the mirror is a haystack and inside the needle in the flesh is a small yellow scrap of symbolic blending, afloat with sneaking bone above the younger town, familiar limbs, styrofoam, no parking.

futuristic organisms peeled with allusion hardware Icarus into accordion enhanced, fogs all through the sign, the real armies on purpose are always troubled in a sense.

contains the purple cat a queue of pumpkins economic rationality as if it were a myth of fertility — bodily, artificial — reconsider your own challenges, aromas of the norm.

fluids tailoring ice to the mists of things imagined.

you were there too, testing the real aginst divisions in technology. the bias of process is always towards fragmentation. invented twists, uncanny, wanting (fragrance of repressed laser) the long cosmic bacteria of capital, raw metaphors and ephemeral research.

instinctive, sensible textures. rhythm partners stirring playful angularity. tightrope under the smokestack.

familiarize years later a regular customer, listening to andrew hill means reading about valdo williams. he had a hat, as we knew, under the river. virtuosity in multiple hats of the period, pianos in place, the second room in the building, uptown from our tv. it was the chorus to come in from the cold, solos feathered in the variable water, who talks the meridian organelle split at the center of montreal ("i'm a dreamer / montreal", asks philip whalen).

between the found and the recurring lies the hatch. the hatch beneath the ambivalent oscillation. between the inventive laboratories and the fragrances of the eyes.

close to the earth we conduct events like viruses. forgive me, i am inviting you now.

6:09 PM



listening to Kris Davis play All The Things You Are, from Aeriol Piano (three times)

the feast of voices tooth inch corridor, broken such bravado commissary, brokered continues since centuries moral jasmine Yosemite, naked from the neck up on the trapeze anniversary. silence is a fire. a few styles this week of crooked magic. long ago this poem was tormented by generous totem skin beneath the corners of the bean where nothing sings back to us in its united languages. detour consistently conceptual feasts. stories in general experiencing most of the reasons we have learned. while reading Steve Dalachinsky's Outtakes, published in the Brooklyn Rail: sound years converted to an entirely serious ship, when the seasons control the primary foaming whole minefield hissing scents a biopolitical gap, now listening to Okkyung Lee — One Hundred Years Old Rain (The Same River Twice), from Noisy Love Songs (twice). we explored the coiled fish, marinade fires biographical conduit. navigated therefore never forgotten in the mutagenic forest. previously we walked like backstrokes through the innovative spines of the crater. followed by Silenced Answer, from the same recording.

then, Anti-House, "Alley Zen" from the album Strong Place (twice)

Ingrid Laubrock (sax)
Tom Rainey (drums)
Mary Halvorson (guitar)
John Hébert (bass)
Kris Davis (piano)
our sand meat swells about the reading. in debt to doubt as a fort in the road. playing the myth social culls fierce volume from each vacuum, dendrites who harbor a mannerist glue, visceral cliff spitting flesh. our voices research the conscious piano. followed by "Oh Yes" — also by Anti-House: it is a quilt of sways derivative of less otherness known in outer space, on the interstellar train, an om, music teaches us the beautiful history of a place. a theater eaten by its own odd pie. why do we suggest the eye, petrified and detached? feast on the stories of the moon. mirror-strewn letters succeed a brutal unfolding. dancing stark razors during exquisite warmth. our thoughts step into the piano, stepping into the casket where each night there is a rainbow. then the song entitled "Anti-House": listening to tectonic darkness tantalized fluorescent shoes. bulbs collaborative dance gist of chair clothing convex boots.


listening to Tom Rainey — In Your Own Sweet Way, from Obbligato (2014) (twice)

Ralph Alessi - Trumpet
Ingrid Laubrock - Tenor Saxophone
Kris Davis - Piano
Drew Gress - Bass
Tom Rainey - Drums

there is no moon any way or another as we have done in the arc and fall of listening. each minute is a texture, either/or, among the facts of its dispersal. we experience these mundane vibrations as assurance. the teaching of the pots is not intended for the pans. i learned of the bent tense: beans in a pick-up truck. unedited fragments rhyme with their broth. during the always irreverent coiling from the cave, frozen in a single sense, i could have thought of songs wound around each wound in their words (the problem of style is not limited to a mouth), months of holistic fumes playing closure, to avoid the blinks in the situational nuance, toe hat hand and unseen aria, have had their garments unaccompanied, carrying the goat into the rose, through the frog to hold the new.

"Reflections", also from Obbligato: a specific writing with an oblique connection to a specific reading, with another oblique connection to a specific listening. i insist that the rhythms think about something other than death. trick power ponies and they, somewhere, films wherein i have not attended, at the entirety of that entity, in the fish (as if to say), nostril is a name almost as random as what they wear. you want something from this or else you would not be here. woulde. the snow is filled with a version of the road. wit ha. snowis. the room is filled with the outrageous righteousness of the light. the score soars sirocco, the sweeping the. by that the lion exclusively is given a saxophone, jukeboxes spewing fish, they showed up in the snow and explained to us a winter. expl;ainted. to us. late at night we wonder about these ideals.

Lee Konitz: “Let’s play off each other. Listen, but don’t listen.”



Anthony Davis — Episteme

the spectacle rewards the arrangement. the adding machine arranges the penury. the perjury extends the elastic puree. distends the scope of the shoe composed in open improvisation.

a walk toward whatever it was is always more memorable than we know.
the vitamins were lacking full Tiresias to the eye.
the tree has never combed the anvil, fallen into absence, this torment apart from melding.

compelling, from the corner of your body, diving to the bottom, washing up on the shore, a gong, marimba, piccolo.

on the mirror, gives it away, as if the field could think in collage grid undecided.

also a haven for the water, piercing the text, havoc in Wyoming. at the lake there is only one. do not forget.

avant garde muscle, to name the moon after its own music, when it's late at night and our fuzzy logic tunes its elements to the game.

when the pleated chords widely sort their musicians we are on the right river, our early morning walks are neither demanding nor creative, there is gravy on the trance and a birthday at every milepost.

Anthony Davis — Variations in Dream-Time

pushing the radio occasions art brut mimim-germinal rolling the torch in a vigilant soup. given that any "us" is a collaboration. recently moose filet reliving the telephone ambit, in the irregurgitant operatile, never open exactly to the heat of its own placement.

teeth being jazzdrone fever, imports the composition changing with each snow.

results legitimize recognitions. decoding the myth of hemispheric bone division.

became the whirlwind before the third improvisation, chairs into choirs as texture, the structured otherness of a dancing bean. it starts in the stars as an alert duet then splits as it begins and is.

the shadow of the whirlwind diminishes to conscious lamps. clamps of varying lengths.

clinging to its lyrical frequency. where one trickster is as good as another as if all tricksters are the same. invokes the silent ego-bell. moon-science fades, decolonized, guises fractured in compositional ideals.

instantly complex sounds overstate their influence. the power of garlic to alter a clarinet. night-speech suffuses descent. the pretext of offense per year no more recent than particular. one forms one's own country from whatever evidence one comes from. of course in a work like this thought conjugates the sun.



waiting until everyone is asleep to listen to Anne LeBaron's Concerto For Active Frogs, i am reading an interview with Tori Kudo, leader of the group Maher Shalal Hash Baz (Isaiah 8:1, “hasten to the spoils,” or according to Tori, “quick spoil, speedy booty”):

burning similar apprehensic, by spells I was, germs for instance, the individualism of the head-gasket as misunderstanding. embodyingboots after charm of the herd, unmistakable, as it derringers concave and prior, to the spoken middle, veers quickly, the spokes slide quietly in the shale.

moon fledgling three at once, how are they closed in the full isthmus of the mouth? contrary to delayed similarities. impose a map of magic as posture in reading gestures. certain sentences are designed structurally to convey clear sets of instructions. the Diet Buddha stoops, and clings songs singing along an open Dog.

they practice, where there are people, being people, while being anything but the people.

the beginning of thought negates the parenthetical void between Tokyo and Utah. i hear their playing shift perfectly to the practical. each rhythm in turn practices a preliminary raiment. when playing a machine of songs try playing the hand you're given. stitching particular scores are songs.

piano in school is a fire clenched, flying from machine to magic. sometimes the immediate dream transcends its instrumentality. try to remember: no casket in the nose; not so with music. it is bigger than the map of the coast if measured with our shoes.

playing closed chairs the hour style. sift with choice chance snapping sounds of the sea is a church.

7:36 PM



Anne LeBaron Quintet, Phantom Orchestra (1991)

Frank London, trumpet
Marcus Rojas, tuba
Davey Williams, electric guitar
Gregg Bendian, drums, vibraphone, percussion
Anne LeBaron, harp with electronics

humor all through improvisers own their own instruments bleating fragments melodic percolator. listening sheetrock seeps into the sea. stillness tuba-hat leapfrog changes washers for the skateboard with woven devices. ebb-barking trumpeter in aspic. instruments Anne percussion lyrics tab lyrics pocket trumpet phantom theory of unusual biography composers quintet featured electric tubafork and encyclopedias orchestra frogs barren trio and harpless 44 lossless arroyo 1992 glissade avant page anchors phantom seconds. put politics into the novel it half-havens who even over our own ovens in the dream Achilles soiled the months at hand, your uncertainty as the days are open.

siblings worth nationality percussion drums trumpet phantom harp heft fingers tone wreck mantra in the dark woods orchestral blend of superstring launch poems the thumb bouquet transmuted solar format century of mythical subjectivities at the forefront of realms sounding vibraphones leg blank herd derives anonymous. 50 leap 566 gravy diving phantom Veda studied damage from the state in music-30 damp gaming maps curved vapor your leopard now figures embracing the swollen coast ozone traditional chorus celebration of strings and wash. berries meridian London recording comprising Pittsburgh institute of listening vegetation durational file phantom phantom urban jazz-egg the model rabbit phantom and theater of curved bouquets vibrations marching revolve with guitar-eggs blank space space. cadenza sleeps in the Adriatic breathtaking radio facts. quintet the electric tubafork and classical shopping cart zephyr 3 dining room sailing tomato. dining room sailing mad hatter toxic stoplights 3. page broadcasting silver, discover the piranha ear, mode dandelion sand electronics. traditional silent Japanese musk ox with leg-eggs and London summary locomotive bay leaves at bridge S and 99 wash phantom percussion tuba the Anne quiz albums free jewels full semantics.



I was listening to Charlemagne Palestine's Strumming Music and going through some notes on contemporary musicians when I came upon:

Loren Connors, guitar (aka Guitar Roberts, Loren Mattei & Loren Mazzacane) "By one estimate included in the liner notes to Night Through, a 2005 three-disc retrospective that collected many of Connors' early singles and suites, he had by then recorded more than 9,000 hours of music." — Marc Masters and Grayson Currin, from The Legacy of Loren Connors (Pitchfork 2013)

the man historian releases / and collaborators partner / so smile his many pasts

the historian releases
and offers collaborators
partner with chosen smiles
for his many pasts

experimental adrenaline document. improvised friends unresolved. between sadness without the new. perseverant and instrumental. named suites three by one.

experimental vanguard adrenaline / rush document an improvised / friends unresolved between feelings / sadness without anger / and new perseverant love / instruments named many suites

ephemera working as archives taught artists to janitor as campus. releasing cultural underlined patchwork original while releasing his cultural critic underlined by patchwork that original or while Connors.

music class Connors flanger sentences late forest and wheel gushes embedded content ever heard music I appreciate and says but because it was the tape experimental music release they would wheel and coil Connors wrote years later. music class at Connors fan fiction sentences late forest and wheel year gushes is content embedded heard fevers found in the eye and also appreciate but there was a different thin scent because the tape of experimental music had never met the wheel coil glistening wrote to Connors in his later years.



Matana Roberts: Coin Coin
"hustling to survive so that others may strive to be something more than me"

Coin Coin Chapter One: Gens De Couleur Libres

read history, as hurries the parts to arrive, we work and are the work found by us and others in the work.

from here to no longer a moon in amazement, haze because hazard, inescapable and seamless in our personalities.

verses reverse how far the plundering and singing could tarnish, quilting choruses in the moon account, kiln soft and incubus non-linear towards jade leading jazz to jasmine.

maybe the bottom of our conclusion is struggling to wound the ether. song sleeps the turmoil of an audacious upheaval.

albeit sarcophagus underwater were the secrets of our muscles, roiling in the spell of the sea, oscillating intoxicating contours, written in the vestiges of the mouth.

what traipse triangles the trajectory of the boat floats thirds into improvisations on our river.

location is not a salve, saves nor pulls on account of its actual arc, and through this climbs its thought, thinking answers with the wide scream is the heart she hears. the robes are orbits built with salt and set.

momentum approaches several fields behind the spangled fragments.

America once of the acting code to social, once kinetic material umbilical analyzes the reductive knot, realities whirled in worlds to tell their unborn stories, vacuum our islands behind the exits, to think the open scree in a loam of sound.

beginning the material trip blocked by the anchor to soup and salad, America of the one-toed sock, the electrified moment is an only audience of itself. the here, sutured to suit itself, now liberated as a present music in its present form, impox to streets until their stories spanning toward.


Coin Coin Chapter Two: Mississippi Moonchile

dangles our countries in their instant traditions, where time is secondary to itself, the beginning of lightning, the suction of each cause.

uninterrupted leaping ensembles jazz robbery sliding through the mix of historx eight seconds the dialog of memories testimony grew up in the lightning the crawl and span of time as poor as time itself. O Southe of the Eye its bitten self. subjective gargantuan piano cavernous and diamond.

where the jewels are peculiar who is this? on the vision of poiesis apprehended at words cull and gauntlet racked.

snakes malleable recoil pianist variations mist and still missing linear intensities of free junket pirates comprehensive feel made moral ruins uninterrupted leaping ensembles.

narratives are a way of dealing with what doesn't mean its surface.

remember the egg, as it ages, is in reality a knot of unknowing.

that reality is crooked is a small joy to know.

later, the lesson of the legume is an aggregate of American sequences. no nation confesses to the same magic twice. the same magic, in addition to its esoteric lightning, translates our texture to a dry and peculiar crescent. America as lexicon knows better than that.

a certain slant of line insinuates solid non-linear misleading both somewhere and struggling to be somewhere else, both either and or. or maybe the shoe is in Chicago and our reading of it is in-part intentional.

arriving at the work we found ourselves working around heartlands and headlands dreaming of no mountain awash in the haze beyond.

remember that narratives lather the lesson confesses a certain translation of our reading of the struggle dreaming of arriving.

Jim Leftwich is a poet who lives in Roanoke, Virginia. ​Recent publications include ​​Volumes 1​, 2​ & ​3​ of ​​Rascible & Kempt (Luna Bisonte 2016​, 2017​, edited by John M. and C. Mehrl Bennett).
previous page     contents     next page


Post a Comment

<< Home