Balkan Beauty

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Phil by Fuzion Photography, Cairns 2017

“An admiration she wouldn’t normally entertain… if he were only a passing stranger”. JD Butler

Lady Jane is in love

with Ashcat.

His strong silhouette slipping in and out of her

periphery, and her

ebony arches rise.

Ashcat, oblivious to her wicked wanton imagination, carries on his distraction,

impervious.

She murders a bottle of Brut in anticipation, while he continues to sway his hips like Arrow – taking no prisoners.

Lady Jane marvels at his beauty.

An admiration she wouldn’t normally entertain (appearing crudely shallow), if he were only a passing stranger.

Warmth, is magnified by his dark Balkan eyes shrouded in long, thick lashes – he is her lover.

He wears Jesus sandals, long sunbleached salt and pepper hair, a ponytail and a sculptured beard adorns his shirtless chest, complimenting his oh-so-sexy charisma.

Oozing like Fat Boy Slim, Craig Charles or Ronnie Size and the like,

he dances in joyous rapture, while gratitude tango’s a discourse; Shakespearean words leading Lady Jane into

break-dancing lines and sonnets.

Drawn to the outline of his magnificent manhood – her eyes,

widen

remembering that first feast of flesh under a cascading moonlit pool. His six foot one

stature conjuring lust and erotic embolisms.

Ashcat is her lush and she is his Lady Jane.

Gin and tonic martini’s mix into multiples of mischievous smiles, Mt Uncle

botanicals tittilating both of their senses.

*

Lady Jane snaps back to reality and uncrosses her legs,

flashing glimpses of her petite ankles in the pantomime.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Blink

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Maximòn

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Photographer: Scott Wilcox, Fuzion Photography, 2017

“…fine tuning the in-between of harmony; hearts, earth & sky” JD Butler

Maximòn,

the epitome of balance:

patience & frustration,

softly spoken & vehement.

Ritual billowing, vaping

new life

into old lungs,

filtering

pure tobacco into undulating balls of steam.

His stage is an altar.

We dance, cleansing much more than our spirit,

fine tuning

the in-between

of harmony; hearts,

earth & sky.

Our effigy, enlightening the soul & keeping her secrets,

venerable in his wisdom.

Our Columbian overlord garnishes

the Mayan temple our grandfather’s bestowed.

Protective.

Upcycling shadows, illuminating the light –

breathing new life.

He is the embodiment of patronage & the people,

regenerating

health, crops, marriage, business, revenge & death.

Holding

our community together.

© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Maximòn

Glimmer

Cobalt Blue Wings

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The Daintree again,

eventually.

One more visit to Port Douglas & everything was shut!

For once, I didn’t feel

anything.

/

I never know if I’m going to see a cassowary,

or watch a ulysses flashing

cobalt blue wings

in the wood; my attention, caught off guard,

landing

on a branch or leaf – just out of

reach.

I hope for glimpses of colour

to blur my vision, invite me to follow that willow

like a wisp.

/

Steep curves in the road

climb &

descend &

slow down

for those shuddering bars strategically placed

becoming progressively more gnarly, closer

to paradise.

/

Lost.

Remembering chivalry – that warm endearing charm & seductive attention

that would set my seat aside, leaving me

to explore every crevice & fold.

For once, I didn’t feel

a thing.

/

Soldier crabs scurry into spherical holes dug deep into the sand, sidestepping that fine line; waves,

washing in & out

hiding those croc’s you know are just under the surface.

I dont bother scanning the rainforest for anything else

that moves.

I didn’t feel you there.

/

Braver than most – or foolish. I’m yet to decide.

I don’t remember butterflies.

© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Froth

Sylvia Prefers Madness over Insanity

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It’s going to hurt digging in, under my skin.

\

Trust. Pain.

Death before dishonour – the Cold War sits in Sylvia’s parlour,

pretending patience is a virtue. We all watch,

a slow burn, already warming the tips

of her lasciviously long

fingers,

licking at her lips.

/

She would rather shake you all off, than let loose another tirade,

another stone, another reason to beg

forgiveness.

Sabotage sinking to a new low.

\

Silvia’s far too unreasonable, although

she prefers irrational; madness defining her in the end. Hands

& feet securely strapped,

her mouth,

stuffed shut with gauze & gaffer tape.

No sign of life – metal bars

& padded cells

resembling reason.

/

Floral oriental lilies.

\

Shes always known how to let go.

© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Karma, Brainiac & Putin’s Balls of Steel

“Karma…she doesn’t rely on intel, cointel, black or psy ops of any kind” JD Butler

1.

Relationships,

are not all they’re cracked up to be.

They are like sabotaged roses; severed from stems,

rolling like heads,

to feel like

Oh!

/

I don’t know.

2.

Denial,

is like sleep walking, except star gazing in day dreams,

avoiding

a fourth kind encounter, shining a light beam on all our useless airs & graces.

Waking hours are left,

wanting.

3.

Karma’s, not any dirtier than her alter ego would suggest either.

At least she let’s you in,

ties you up,

then fucks you up the arse before she withdraws.

/

In her world, she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t rely on intel, cointel, black or psy ops of any kind,

in order to see past you & into the future.

To her, we are all space invaders that have the potential to devour.

4.

Russia, may be all over the West but Brainiac’s got the universe covered.

He sucks & fucks his way though world’s several times over – therefore, we won’t have a shit show in hell, by the time he gets here.

Putin’s already won his war anyway (the West is going down).

By the time you realise WTF just happened, that warm thermonuclear feeling you have between your legs –

will be soiling more than just your knickers.

5.

There is no infinity & beyond when relationships are run on denial.

© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Betrayed

Karma Keto

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One camel toe please,

two new boobs,

one new neck,

one flat stomach

& two stick arms.

The goal has been exceeded, in Thailand.

/

Swell hell, can go to hell!

Karma tells me she’s having Keto tonight.

Next stop, Brazil.

One fat transfer please,

two stick legs

& a Partridge in a pear tree.

© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Micro

Bangkok Deconstructed

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Bangkok deconstructed:

fractured concrete buildings, ripped apart as I watch from my Somerset window.

Steel, jutting haphazard in tangled knots; a once perfectly acceptable infrastructure,

now crumbling blocks fall into piles of useless rubble, while machinery scrapes the lot into a perfect square level playing field.

Ready for the next wave of antagonists selling prosperity,

pins & pegs.

/

Nips & tucks,

scalpel’s cutting across corners, aligning smooth curves with invisible sutures.

Skin, falling into plastic bags; trophies with twistie ties, all captured by Five Eyes.

Fat globules disperse & intermingle among the blood & yellowing toxic waste,

stretch marks & saggy skin. Torture under white lights (hung, drawn & quartered), like medieval madness.

Discarded pieces of meat/flesh going up in smoke, incinerated into giant plumes.

*

Rancid ashes & suffocating dust resuscitating enlightenment

into a new age.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Invisible

Freaky Fish & the Stench of Rotting Meat

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I could smell it a mile away. The stench. It reeked. A purple suit jacket couldn’t distract my nasal passages, any more than the blue arse flies circling around my eggs bene and an old English breakfast. A seedy but not too bad cafe on Sandringham Road.

My submission was a waste of time and money in the end. His slobbering tongue may as well have slid around the inside of my mouth, probing for fishy morsels when he should have been licking the egg yolk, about to dribble from the corner of his. But there will be no saving the 1970’s retro tie from yet another polka dot stain.
I’m sure he could smell it too. My hot, pulsating wet pussy, soiling my knickers over the prospect of having my culinary words eaten out of context. It stinks. There is nothing quite like the smell of rotting meat to make a woman feel heavenly – retch! It cracks me up every time I regurgitate.
/
It was all business and no pleasure. A typical overcast Auckland day in the middle of winter, but it still didn’t stop him adjusting his oversized proportion trying it on for size. That would be a clichè, if he were unable to stop drooling over my salmon.
The damage is done. A lingering malaise assuming everyone thinks I suck. All it took was a piece of meat and all the fingering fucked me over. No conspiracy theory this time, just a stench and salmonella in my mouth.
/
Nazis were a problem.

I should have taken them all out.

© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Messy

Honesty Died with Bukowski 

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“Brown nosing is considered commentary, while deceit still lingers in gaslit ovens” JD Butler

People could learn to say what they mean, & mean what they say but

brown nosing is considered commentary, while deceit still lingers in gaslit ovens; no professionalism, integrity or due process. 

Fraudulent essentially – powerful people full of egotistical self righteous bigotry, who really don’t give a fuck! Zealots who would suck off anything & lick the rim, just to play the press.

I’ve retired, & that doesnt give anyone the license to try to get their end away by throwing a ‘seemingly solid’ literary curve ball at me, that’s totally full of shit!

Honesty died with Bukowski & I wish I lived in America, because I know exactly where to buy a cheap gun

without any background checks.


© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved


Dim

Lady Lazarus & the Voice of Ratified Reason

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“If I had the grace to fall apart respectfully, there would be no need for enlightenment”. JD Butler

He’s using me, I’m using him – both of us working on a palatable means to several ends & everyone’s happy on the dance floor, except me / Lady Lazarus, fully loaded

machinations mimicking my madness & everything I have survived is temporarily erased from my memory / the neglect, the rapes, the con artists & the turning of blind eyes. The violence

of insanity, cleansing the last of my contemptible dirty pieces. A ruse in the end, designed to ratify my plea bargain, still set to drown in a sea of toxic shame, churning

out green bile – something the dogs love to salivate over.

/

It all sounds so depressing, except for the sun that continues to rise; refracted light beams infiltrating my cracks,

forcefully illuminating all remaining fragments of hope that haven’t yet marvelled at a setting sun. I am thankful.

If I had the grace to fall apart respectfully, there would be no need for enlightenment, you would all marvel at my unadulterated halo & drop to your knees, prostrate

but I am a mere mortal woman. No God could ever carry me across the sand or walk on water or set me down on the island of my choice,

without some sort of comeuppance; paying the ferryman requires nerves of steel / I lack the will to either live or die,

in peace.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Imagination

Spank

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“She will always lay down the spank & attempt to ignite your bright sparks…” JD Butler

I laid down the spank today, allowing my indignation to spontaneously combust. I exploded & so did he, backfiring.

My flame fired up appropriately ~ something didn’t sit quite well, was unethical, insensitive or just plain ignorant & I refused to douse 

exceptions even now, although I risked being scorched ~ my truth, just too damn hot to handle, those nerves, just too damn uncomfortable; neuron’s,

doing some sort of defensive martial arts’ move off the back of a band wagon, straight into the proverbial bonfire; my face, red 

eyes burning embers, boring into the heart of the matter, without blinking once.

My flame, extinguished in the end but it wasn’t all for nothing & I wasn’t inebriated, so I guess there was no excuse to offer up. I also refuse, 

to apologise for my inner bitch. She will always lay down the spank & attempt to ignite your bright sparks, while you listen & learn.

*

You know it works both ways. I’d happily lie ~ across your knees while you give me a serve.

© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Conjure

Lady Jane’s Ashcat

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“…his mantra postulating pleasure & someone slips up, spilling yet another cocktail” JD Butler

1.

Lady Jane breaks out into a smile, allowing her eyes to wander over Ashcat – watching play unfettered magnificently, staring at his beautiful body wanting, waiting for kisses & licks to parlay, his hands moving mountains.

2.

Ashcat, completely at home & grounded, giving; a generous lover of life & people (like she used to be before trauma showed her ugly), he takes the cake with no false pride – her ego aside.

He leaves her pinched – the tweaked kind (still not quite sure she made it out of purgatory), but all she can think about is decòr, finding that perfect vintage pattern, making bunting & a vendor box full of surprises.

3.

Lady Jane heal’s, while showing up under every stone who fake really are; womanizing, homophobic, racist, misogynist, hillbilly rednecks with mother complexes, she steer’s well clear.

Trust mistaking bogan’s for diamonds – fake faux for everything they’re worth (consciously unaware) & yet here he is authentic, laughter lines up between them & light sparks beam.

4.

Ashcat, full of life’s sugar & spice; saffron, baked Spanish cheesecake, sorbet & wine, swings 1920’s while Jane’s fat lady croon’s to wild cherries & Winehouse electro beats, ushering in new sensations where she doesn’t want to wipe that smirk from her face. 

He hands her the mic & confidence soars, roaring through the midnight tunes ecstatic. He breaks out into an albatross the moment she hits her groove, arms pushing & pulling – MC funky time grinds her way into heaven, deliriously happy.

5.

It’s been an age in-between gigs, bands & dance halls, where her voice belted out highs & low’s to crowds of private dancer’s & partners swigging on beers, peering through plumes of green smoke. Auckland, on any given weekend seven years ago.

A complete cellular cycle gone by, where she sold it all for a plane ticket & a ride on a rollercoaster at the Cairns Show – the only thrill worth repeating. Now, she rolls back the years side-stepping potholes & speed bumps, without checking out her rear view for crazy motherfuckers, riding up her arse.

6. 

A trip to Port with the top down blow’s the cobwebs, converting sea beans into tapas & something that blow’s her mind instead of arachnophobia (crab slider’s as close as it gets to eight legs). One brief unpleasant memory is replaced with a multitude of self soothing layers.

7.  

Circus hijink’s at the yacht club – neon hoola hoops, Lady Jane wearing a purple corset handing out lollies & buxom beauties swanning about fanning burlesque, a sea of legs two-stepping tuxedos, federer’s & fancy candy canes. All it took was a little effort, a time machine & something worth fighting for on their part.

Both of them look karma in the face, willing everyone around them to join in the feast; happy, pulling them out of their own little world’s into old school vintage frivolity. It doesn’t take long for contagion to spread outward in waves of pure, pulsing momentum & before you know it, Lady Jane is whisked off her feet, Ashcat taking her flapper hand in his leading her astray backstage.

8.

An after party, extends to more bubbles & a jacuzzi full to the brim – delightful mayhem unfolds as Lady Jane unfasten’s her corset, Ashcat losing his cravatt & all of their twisted innuendos culminate in uncomplicated hedonism; flesh, tripping the night fantastic!

Lady Jane doesn’t complain. She has it all & Ashcat is himself in all of his illuminated glory; batting those thick lashes, his deep brown eyes a beauty to behold. He smiles before ordering another round, his mantra postulating pleasure & someone slips up, spilling yet another cocktail.

9. 

A late afternoon checkout sky, invites their bodies to embrace, Lady Jane rolls over & Ashcat fits the mould perfectly, heavy breathing stirring slumber from an evening full of stars. 

10.

The parties over, it’s time to pack up.

© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Nest

Unicorns & Rainbows

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“Hillary…she’d be the first to ride her rodeo on the back of a silver bullet” JD Butler

1.

War, a battling agent designed to glorify ancient ruminating mores; thoughts, aided & abetted by Kim’s immortal unicorn’s & Trump’s small penis syndrome spouting poppycock, two death stars on a collision course designed to yield maximum impact, vaporized along with sanctioned collateral damage inside a nuclear vacuum. 

2. 

My brain is not unlike a chemical weapon, a ballistic missile without the regime change; two opposing hemispheres, except it’s lights out for North Korea & more freedom for America, but thats nothing compared to the super sonic shit storm about to rain down over the rest of us plebs, leaving no other alternative but to join in the furore or bite down on a little white capsule.

Japans fucking proverbial rainbow is the least of my worries – China has that angle covered & Putin’s KGB weighs in on their diplomatic psyops by looking down the barrel of a sniper scope. I’m surprised Trump’s still alive, he wouldn’t be if Hillary had her way, she’d be the first to ride her rodeo on the back of a silver bullet.

3.

We all have demons. Some just have the power to mobilise millions of indoctrinated patriots to do their dirty work for them. Turnbull wishes he had balls the size of Dutton’s border force – the good ole Australian way preferring to torture & torment whole nations into submission & we all know how that ends, except we keep the fight alive by abjectly refusing to surrender. Sound familiar?

Good old divide & conquer tactics they don’t teach you in school. If we all had little red button’s to push, we’d all be dead right about now, that grey slate wiped clean once & for all, but you can bet your bottom petro-dollar you’d need two corresponding red button’s to be pushed simultaneously somewhere else, by someone else for it all to go away. Anyone with a brain bigger than a peanut would have beaten the shit out of their button by now, with a big red hammer rendering them both useless.

4.

I’m tired. I’m tired of listening to monolgues of bullshit – diatribes of voices I recognise & once knew, who taunt me in my waking hours & consume me in my torrid nightmares. I’d like to find a cure, a single dose that does away with it all overnight, waking to find a gigantic mushroom cloud on the horizon, my zombie-like state basking in its afterglow. 

What the hell can any of us do anyway? Hippies are all psychedelic has-been’s & the internet’s got us all dumbed down with information overload, a juxtaposition if ever I’ve witnessed one, the fact is we’re all sitting on our fat arses in front of mobile stargates, waiting for another 9/11 false flag attack just enough to distract us from our disease!

5.

In the meantime, my mangled ovaries sit beside ghost fallopian tubes, in the void between surgical clips & internal organs, floating in intraperitoneal liquid; a vacuous black hole inside a deep space continuum, along with hubris.

I’m using that as my excuse.

© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Identity

Persephone

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“Persephone never quite forgave injustice, but she did learn to shed her skin” JD Butler 

You came over larger than life, in all your big beautiful buxom-ness,

I got you naked.

My legs wrapping themselves around you like spider star’s, our flambuoyant embraces creating seismic ripples in our milky way.

When you weren’t whingeing about the cold – manifesting uncontrollable shivers & shakes, I watched your face smile like iridescent plankton sparkling in the moonlight; the ebb & flow of your once moored reserve.

You let it all hang out under cover of darkness, except for artificial red lights intermittently flashing, innocent for all of it’s risquè innuendos but oh so enlightening!

*

I don’t presume to know you intimately, although you remind me of Persephone – Hades having honed her fury, tempering Demeter’s mournful wrath all thanks to Hercate.

My third eye dived into your psyche, recognising myself in your reflection. Tidal waves of emotion crashed through and over, till I could see and you could see me.

*

Persephone never quite forgave injustice, but she did learn how to shed her skin & find rebirth in the spring,

bursting into wild rain.


© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Myth of Persephone & Demeter

Sympathy

Monkey Man

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“Everybodies doing some sort of haberdashery; feathered costumes & hand sewn labours of love” JD Butler

My monkey man swings through the tunes, 1920’s in psychedelic vibes, moving through astral bodies & trombones, his strumpets shaking everything they’ve got; getting on up, you getting down with the sickness while my Cheshire lights up the room like Charleston

Everybodies doing some sort of haberdashery; feathered costumes & hand sewn labours of love, more broken heart’s than I care to imagine, myself weaving supersystems & stars into eternity while you belt out Orions tune like a demon possessed!

Even Club Reservoir served more frivolity than a mere gin & tonic this time; our Queen having a place to shine, the turquoise scene in sequins wore more hearts than Bombays’ Sapphire – our grand parade my finale, coming home on a backbeat 

*

You may as well be a gay icon my pretty, but it aint got no swing & I hate myself for being so mean to you


© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Magnetic

Fear

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I’m afraid to let you in

fear 

open myself up in case I make another mistake 

his hands around my throat

turning my vulnerability into high voltage more powerful than I 

fear

harming me more than my imaginations interrogate

the fusion of vocal chords 

when you say beautiful amazing things to me; I don’t know where to look

self doubt bonded to grey matter

on fire, using myself against myself, feeling violated – crazy

fear

wondering recognition, unseeing myself in you

your soulful eyes a lighthouse or warning?

my turbulent wake adjusting. I think I’m fucked up

fear, or is it?

*

You are so beautiful

© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Gate

Copper Carries a Gun

He wants to be a copper, so he can carry a gun

In public where everyone can see, the man

He wants to be a copper, so he can shoot people

Pass the buck onto a badge

He wants to join the boys club, on the right side of the fence

He wants to be a copper, so he can bludgeon you all to death

/

With a smile on his face, masking his distaste 

Joking in the watchhouse, hiding his disgrace

© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Gold Coast Whistleblower

Police Body Cameras Rarely Used

Rogue Cops

Dormant

To Be Confirmed

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Maybe

I’ve met someone wonderfully new

Maybe

Maybe

He’s into me & nothing like you

Maybe

Maybe

He means what he says & says what he means

Maybe 

Maybe

He’s not full of shit or lying through his teeth

Maybe

Maybe

He genuinely cares & thoughtfully thinks

Maybe

Maybe

He’s been hurt, one too many times blue

Maybe

Maybe

I’ve met someone wonderfully new

Maybe

Maybe 

I’ve met someone nothing like you

© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Harmonize

Man, Martyr & Misogynist 

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One wooden desk

One black leather chair

One black office chair (all purchased from Marilyn)

One black laptop case (gift from Michelle) 

One Brown square lamp table; Madang

One matching coffee table; Madang (both purchased from A-mart)

One pair of jumper leads

One complete set of original Tin Tin comics (Yes, ORIGINAL)

One colour drawing of Pink 

One missing portrait (of my children)

One piece of art

One damaged hammock

One damaged gate

One damaged printer

One ruined painting

Numerous CD’s and DVD’s

/

Why?


© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Disastrous

Machiavellian Green-eyed Monster 

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My Machiavellian green-eyed monster bats her surreptitious eyelids to within an inch of her lasciviously sly lips, barking out orders like Lady Muck subconsciously screwing her fucking finger, but all I can hear is a drum roll; her Devonshire high tea served & my Mad Hatter sets the scene with nothing more than a whistle


© Copyright 2017, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Scamper