Friday, January 14, 2011


a little while after finding out that the Sudan had been named after pores and blackheads –
it was supposed to become the mainstream of catharsis
the idea was to be an oasis where looting was relevant again
I could not accept how kidnappings passed through the drywall

the arrow did not fly straight in the miscegenation of identities
the arrowhead became disconnected and rammed on its own through the cereal box
information we have on the kidnap victim’s awesome party –
one side in the other side out, the disembodied movement typical of messageboard Pong

well now I will tell you upfront that with my personal collection of sandwiches I feel positively indestructible
where have we heard that before?
oh yeah: it was in the lot of an auto dealership, the sun was bending the hoods of cars backward like surly upper lips
‘I believe it would now be a good time to put on our lapel pins – the time feels just so right to start railing hard against Subaru drivers...’
the mood was solemn, like it is in all civilized countries

the death penalty is given a tasteful Malibu theme
my wife’s fateful run-in at the supermarket with the wedding dj – part-time she is a policewoman given to front-lawn loitering – this is a woman about whom I had often had incredibly sanctimonious reveries in bed nailing her in an act of extreme conjugal politeness to the headboard 

‘flashing marathon runners is a very rude act,’ my wife warned her acidly
women sometimes try to embody stereotypes of gangland boredom
amid wheat downpours looking at the mouth-watering porcelain
screaming how alien mouthwash tastes so excellent

fetal alcoholism’s umbilical cord is a wobbly telephone wire –
in psychoanalysis you’re in your phlegm Snuggie, communicating via a telephonic drool strand with someone on the other side of the planet
on the housekeeper’s boar tusk you’re a hunchbacked T-shirt –
you’re dreaming about a dreamless hibernation not in, but skillfully aligned with, a booming washing machine

a scavenger that edited its loot by inserting interesting spaces
a pissing sculpture running away from a semblance of its original –
its marrow is Marmite and the decomposing/burning of a fat satiated tick
the originality so feared: a crocky tomato crate

you cannot fight evil, I’ve told my congregation – because the Death Star’s gambit of moving its dust under a florescent light is brilliant and deceptive
I have bellowed at them many times: it does not tempt or dare you!
it beckons!
clearly you’re on the road to becoming a very well-spoken saint

what a blighted and empty place needs is a fusillade of smooth black choral –
blasting down from heaven like an emergency celebrity faceplant
it would feel its cheeks puff out –
it would feel its pants drop in lurid light: renewable fuel

the Dobby abides –
the Dobby is a glansular breast rat of hermaphroditic wood –
the Dobby is the most skillful belly dancer ever
the whole of Sudan’s population consists of one flaky carbuncle

1 comment:

  1. if this is Tyson Bley that went to school in Hertzog South-Africa please mail me at


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