Thursday, October 15, 2020

New Poetry by Carson Pytell


Exact digestive processes after dinner I do not know
nor care to so long as it went down well and satiates.

The conditions under which the tobacco plant grows best
does not cross my mind heading to the window afterwards.

Why purple is the color of the sky at dusk baffles me
only when I'm not looking at the soft evening clouds.

The distance of the sun, moon; trifling matters compared
to photosynthesis, tides, sun tans and nights moonbright.

And death? But a distant abstraction while I smoke
and consider myself smoking, and other felt things.

One can remain alive not knowing the functions of the heart
but cannot go on living ignorant of how their heart works.

- © Carson Pytell 2020

Carson Pytell is a poet living outside Albany, NY whose work has appeared in numerous venues online and in print, including Artifact Nouveau, Cruel Garters, Rabid Oak and Crack the Spine, among others. His short collection, First-Year (Alien Buddha Press, 2020) and first chapbook, Trail (Guerrilla Genesis Press, 2020) are now available.

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