Words, by bob brown

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Dedication

TO MY ROSE-RIB

150 copies of this book set by hand and privatelyprinted on hand-press each copy has beensigned by the author

This is No

Bob Brown

Words

I but bend my finger in a beckon and birds, words of birds, hop on it, chirping.

By bob brown

HOURS PRESS

I5, Rue Guénégaud PARIS

1931

I but bend my finger in a beckon and words birds of words hop on it chirping

Operating on words -gilding and gelding them

In a rather special laboratory equipped with

Micro and with scope -I anesthetize

Pompous, prolix, sesquipedalian, Johnsonian

Inflations like Infundibuliform

Only to discover by giving them a swift

Poke in the bladder they instantly inspissate

And whortle down the loud- writing funnel.

Experimentally pricking with a sterilized needle

The centipedantic adjective Pseudepigraphous

I find it just goes Puff! and guiltily seeks

Sanctuary behind the dictionary.

All clearly classical words fray easily

The wooliest ones show undeniable traces of

Mouthy cotton. Weevil words bore.

Altiloquential ones when dropped in the

Specimen jar brimming with alcohol

Die torturously unhappy deaths from drowning

While wassail words run around the slippery rim

Making whoopee, shouting for a ducking

Coming out aglow to slip their warm little

Hands in mine with quaint curtsies from the

Lady ones and hearty "Thanks for the drink,

Old man," from their cheery red-cheeked mates

'Tis then I reach for the Laboratory Record and

Happily indite a new-found formula

WW -|- I = 1

(Words and I are one)

(microtext)

Zany Zed's Inarticulate Skeleton

OOze thrOugh the adenOidal Ogling OOs

TeeTer on T-bones of ToTTering TTs

Blow BuBBles with the BaBBling BBs

ExErcisE Erotic ElEphantinE knEEs

Juggle Joyous Jugfuls of Juicy Jungly JJs

ItinerIze Impy Inky ItItIs IIs

Play PoPeeP with sheePish PPPs

Zip in Zig-Zags with the Zany Zeds

Illumination

Nirganth , Persian Princess

Petal of Spring

Vermillion-tipped

Jewelled fingers and toes

In the golden grass

Of the Garden of Love

Singing the

Soul Song of Spring To her swan-headed zither

Widowed Nirganth

Burdened with black baubels

On the flower-lit bank of the

Brook of Spring

Her sobbed song

Attracting full-mated, tail-tossing

Goats and ducks

And curious, timorous virginal things

With tails between their legs

Nirganth stands

Stark, alone and straight

As the stately, solemn fruitless palm

Behind her

Between two full-branched bearing trees

And two others with

Main limbs lopped off

Nirganth, widowed

Greets seminal Spring

With ritual

Sighing her plaintive

Autumnal dirge

Mid cavorting, inquisitive goats

(microtext)

Death of Words

Honor- Chastity

Ugly wounds- Abbatoir

CLASH

Immortality- Suicide

Religion- Punishment

BANG

To a wild montana mare

Lady Godiva

Why

Did you keep me

Awake all night

Last night

Tossing

Lifting white-hot sheets

On my perpendicular tent-pole

A lonely maverick

Making camp in the

Desert of my bed

Gazing through

Gossamer gloom

For glowing glimpses of

Your dimpled

Blank-faced

White Bottom

You siren centaur

Clattering night mare

In the cobbled street

Below my scholarly garret

I am no

Lime-washed

Out-washed

Jet black stallion

To be whinnied at Neighed at