chopped liver & love notes.
he stood inside the garage for most of September.
the mooring ropes had been cut loose
and it was all being scraped out of him
like lobster meat from a shell.
hours would go by,
things would be moved from place to place.
he might sit in the car
or hang his tools on the wall.
staring is an involuntary place to live.
entire worlds can be created and crushed in minutes.
he wondered whether he’d been staring for most of his life.
he packed up and headed south on the morning of the 12th.
kissed them all goodbye while she sat in the bedroom.
the ceilings started to drip and the carpet started to burn.
in the bathtubs of all his mornings,
grow lily pads that bed crowns.
there are no more flowers left pick
no more notes left to write.
no more gates to jump.
just chopped liver,
chopped liver and sundown.
Matt Bayliss is 31. Grown in Cornwall, lives in London. Is better at poems than bios.