Tyson Bley – 2 poems

 

The Vampire 

The darkness is incredibly thick, like the vampire’s beard,
like an animal doctor’s beard. The shadow of blood cast
by the dead animals has turned black and crusty on the walls
and floor, but on the steel tables it looks red as the darkest,
shiniest red against a metal background. Suburban pets, mostly –
some used to be common; some, like the lizard, had been exotic.
The hideous, meaningless incisions that have been made in cat,
dog, rabbit, snake, bird. The vampire, who does not drink
animal blood, and refused any in this case as well, had been
a respectable veterinarian.

 

 

Pale Dead Love 

I am walking across a dark dead landscape.
The trees are spindly and the sky is black.
I am carrying a dark hole in my stomach.
Black ooze oozes forth from it like bile.
My hair is frozen like a sword’s blade in the icy wind.
Black is black. Even white is a black, wet, pink,
plucked swan whose feet are sunk in sticky tar.
Love is pale belly lint stuck to a charred heart.

 

 

Tyson Bley is the author of Vital Signs and Drive-Thru Zoo, both from SchismPress.

 

 

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About gobbet

gobbet is a literary magazine dedicated to publishing the very best experimental poetry and prose. Intellectual perversity and explorations of dark themes are positively encouraged. We are only interested in work that is progressively experimental. We want to see risks, and we want to see them pay. No previously published work. Prose should not be longer than 1000 words. There are always exceptions. Send 3-5 poems. Include a short bio. Send submissions to gobbetmag@hotmail.co.uk Work will be published every 5-10 days. We also intend to publish anthologies of selected work published in gobbet. We will do our best to reply promptly. Most submissions will receive a decision within a month.
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One Response to Tyson Bley – 2 poems

  1. wet, pink, plucked swan whose feet are stuck in tarry glue — of all the horrors in these poems, this line hit the hardest, eliciting feelings for animals trapped and dying in toxic spills , of course, but also conjuring the image of friends who died trapped in the use of black tar.

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