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Ten Sixty-Five

Oh, the woe new technology breeds when upgrades are downgrades.

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Ten Sixty-Four

Sixty-four plus three
we still love you
so retire already.

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Ten Sixty-Three

Does a Blue Moon sing The Blues?

Always inside sunshine.

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Ten Sixty-Two

One arm.

One leg.

One eye.

One old war policy.

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Ten Sixty-One

The Inclusory Eye, blacked by insolent rage — blinds the horizon.

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Ten Sixty

Braying, masked in mint and sweat
the hermaphrodite slides away.

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Ten Fifty-Nine

Relief in hand —
— newsprint, leaves or catalog?
Always septic safe.