Schism[2] 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...
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Poetry