outskirts of jimtown, ca

road was dull heavy lead
asphalt ribbon one-two-eight bent

vines posed naked
winter yawned green hills

skies dull moved
war waited around

the corner

*

months later hills spill down gold
tires cry to turns snaking

vines wave chartreuse
thoughts turn dark vermilion

not a cloud to touch
stark empty blue

chases

 

Opletalova Street
(view from Uzka Street)

you can't go home
the secrets of the past haunt
as you hide behind false names and
try to forget the Provost's parish church
gothic dreams of st maurice

ghosts in baroque style drag
your words and empty renaissance
never to return to Uzka Street
no more echoes of 28th October Street
trapped in internet mask and USA

your karma is the goulash of yourself
never to walk head up and known
a king of waste systems
small fish of windy city
gathering nothing of your own

when germany and russia
brought her to her knees
broke her right on down
who knew in years it would be you
groveling likewise breaking promises defeated by self



mountains of spam

opened email can of outlook this morning
while green tea steam spiraled.

hober net radio played roots americana
with usual delicious eclectic twist.

a screen door or two slammed nearby.
birds were elephants on my roof.

a hundred or so new messages danced in;
I counted tip-toes and stomps of spam.

four score spam later it hit me.
more than half today were spam prevention spams.

insidious as the last election, I thought
as green tea lipped I blocked and leveled mountains.

 

---

all things considered
(theotherside)

     When Jim isn't working, he's usually scribbling down these little groups of symbols that somehow paint the edges of this thing called life.

yours,
climbmax aka jim christ