Charlie Baylis is from Nottingham, England. He is the poetry editor of Review 31. He has published two pamphlets Elizabeth (Agave Press) and hilda doolittle´s carl jung t-shirt (Erbacce), a poem of his is featured in the ‘best new British and Irish poets 2017’ (Eyewear Press). He spends his spare time completely adrift of reality.
Find out more about Charlie here: http://www.charliebaylis.com/ or here: http://theimportanceofbeingaloof.tumblr.com/.
Photo by Kev Byrne.
ruby paints my room rebecca red flicks
raindrops from her lashes undresses the language
of her tongue hoarfrost and diphthong
angelic simulacrum shooting stars
shoot down the chute of her neck the waterfalls we believed were waterfalls
were ruby's wet back from the ocean were ruby's wet eyes
from the ocean i
examine the movies in ruby's lip gloss when we kiss
i can't stop thinking how blue the sky is
Friday night on Babestation
Every Friday night on Babestation a French botanist
strolls into my mind and drops her dress in the middle of an allegory
thereby ruining the allegory.
Sometimes it's easier to think of lemons
when you are not thinking of lemons, bottle tops are often just as yellow
as the flowers in a petrol station.
I pour my eyes down the sink
admiring the blues as they burst.
The static on the channel seems to whisper
the lines of perfect poems
or memories painted backwards
onto cave walls
that flicker like lightning on the strange surfaces on which the clouds pose.
The French botanist returns to her body
I change the channel.
Two men in suits are discussing tennis.
The airport was silent
outside the menace and glare of
The same morning a suicide bomber
exploded, shattering her soft body into a million pieces,
she left an eyelash.
We sat waiting for the same plane, Matilda
flowered in your womb
the moment I gave you
a bag of blood oranges, the jealous moons of the Bahamas,
you wrote of a girl with the purple fear.
You said in every broken dream
there is a pool of stagnant water
you said after the storm
sharks would wash up in our stomachs.
You never looked at the time
it was over.