Drive-Thru Zoo

gobbet press delivers Tyson Bley's bomb, Drive-Thru Zoo.

A god might have scraped these poems from underneath his fingernails. The surface is a deep gouge. I picture the Pale Man’s omnispective claws rifling children’s bodies and pulling out toys and superheroes, tearing through comic books and TV afternoons, contraband horror flicks, robot psychoses and spider-fed atrocities sucking colours from our favourite cartoons. These are the dreams I have inside Sarlacc’s stomach, its linings lined in posters of crumpled movie stars and porn stills. Screw Gotham, I’d have Batman out every night whoring himself to fund the surgery Tyson Bley will need if he’s to better this.

– Gary J Shipley

I am utterly enchanted! It's darling having Satan born next door. Tyson Bley pulls his tit. Last black frenzy, I showed Drive-Thru Zoo to Furry Lewis and we wailed "If my wall was whiskey and the peanut's keyhole a duck I'd fuck it." What a wonder enhanced mobile and online offerings are! The best poetry around reminds me there will soon come a day when I won't want to know me. Today, Tyson's writing is flowers and guppies. Inhabit your absence.

– RC Miller