Words, by bob brown

Rimbaud reincarnate

Pioneer in the Infinite

Fourth dimensional venturer·

Harry Crosby discovered

The Ultimate Pole

Located neither North nor South

First nor last, here nor there

As a human projectile

Self-shot into the

Blinding black centre of his Sun Crosby's grey ashes were not Scattered alone over Manhatton

But flashed for a full

Millimetre-second

In a bursting rainbow meteor

Trailing resplendent sparks

A scintillating shower of

Formulated Futurity

Glowing radiantly through

Time-Space from hopeful

Realms of Rising Suns to

Earthy haunted sad-eyed Setting Suns,

(microtext)

PANDORA AT PLAY

Blanched boned grinning hollow dice

Cupped ruby glistening pips

And big bloody spat-out teeth

Spewed from a

Purple plush-lined box

At you

Your dice, Pan!

Has Little Joe been around tonight

And mole-eyed mousey people Squinted up at the spectacle Clutching for their Faith Frantically inmiraculous reticules

Brilliant explorer of Chaos

Daring delver in the Eternal

Harry Crosby accepted gallantly the Only sporting chance life offered Entered in an uncertain trial heat

By an unknown proprietor

Without even by-your-leave

He vaulted the flimsy fence into Forbidden fields of Elysium

Sprang out in independent Freedom Finished the race under his own Flying colours

Daring to draw down divine wrath

Fearlessly he crashed a

Defiant fist into the

Menacing grinning skull of

That big swaggering bully Existence He sent hollow Reality reeling . Burst the thin silly shell of

Current Life on this planet

Eager to get at the

Kernel of Creation

Foreseeing possible insufficiency

As an individual atom

Newcome in the Unknown

A half-formed single-sexed Neophyte in the

Universal Empyrean of Unity

And being born companionate

Humanly he mated in death

To full-form, complete, create

A free future conjugate

For further brilliant adventure

Even ultimate achievement in the

Kaleidoscopic

Blinding black centre of

Seven Trillion Whir1ing Suns

(microtext)

The Natural Cynicism of a

Newspaper Man, the

Distrust a baker has for a

Pie, the

Way a butcher

Looks at tripe

La vie · americaine

8 A. M. 9 A. M. 12 M. Coffee, cereal Office $$$$$$$$$ Brunch cigarettes, eggs chasing the dollar

1 P.M. 5 P.M. 7 P.M.

Office $$$$$$££ £ Cocktails Dinner

dollar-golf chasing

8 P. M. __________________ 1 A.M.

talkies chasing the tail tail-chasing

______________________________

&

Yes God

I've looked around

Seen the quaint devices and

Funny commonplaces you bragged about

It's all right God

I understand you're an altruist

Plus God

I know you had a high purpose&

All that God

In breathing your sensen

Semen-scented breath

Into clay pigeons Chinks Brazies

Yanks Frogs Turks and Limeys

It's a great little old world you made God

But now I'm ready for another eyeful

Mars Heaven Hell&/or

What have you got Gott

Come on with your Cummingsesque etceteras

(microtext)

I, who am God

Wear lavender pyjamas and

Purr poetry

Should I, who am God

Dirty my ear on the ground

Striving to catch the

Idiotic waltzing lilt of

Rhyming red-eyed dervish

Twirling white pink poet mice

In union suits?

If I I would only