The Man Who Ate Mahogany from Myths of Multiplicity by pd lyons


Right about ducks was his sort of thing,
the man who devoured mahogany
with his own yellow bill plates.

Knowing right about ducks :
the colour of water
compared to the state of fault
with the ass in the road
who shot bb’s and 22’s
into ducks
from the corner
under the street light bright as day
interrupting him in his middle
of mahogany meal –

Reading the righteousness
out of his mealy yellow mouth,
they shot out his windows.

 

 

from Erbacce Press http://www.erbacce-press.com/

 

all proceeds from books purchased will directly benefit the Erbacce Writers Co-op. Cost is £4.95 and includes shipping worldwide.

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Poetry deals with primal and conventional things — the hunger for bread, the love of woman, the love of children, the desire for immortal life. If men really had new sentiments, poetry could not deal with them. If, let us say, a man did not feel a bitter craving to eat bread; but did, by way of substitute, feel a fresh, original craving to eat brass fenders or mahogany tables, poetry could not express him. If a man, instead of falling in love with a woman, fell in love with a fossil or a sea anemone, poetry could not express him. Poetry can only express what is original in one sense — the sense in which we speak of original sin. It is original, not in the paltry sense of being new, but in the deeper sense of being old; it is original in the sense that it deals with origins.

Robert Browning (1903).

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