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Ten Seventy-Nine

A ringing in the hollow
brings joy to the Blues.

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Ten Seventy-Eight

Overflowing oil offshore
conveyors of truth stoppered
black sand looms

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Ten Seventy-Seven

The green eye glows no more;
death in the dimming.

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Ten Seventy-Six

The new lepers
the modern malingerers
are lingering data tails

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Ten Seventy-Five

A killer without a conscience —
but a distinction with a C-diff.

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Ten Seventy-Four

She took a seat.  Landed in a lap.  Sweat singing.

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Ten Seventy-Three

One chapter insufficient
tell the whole story
or just don’t.