Badlands – Carson Pytell
Orange hour, burdens down,
yet the things above my head;
faces I know not, names I do
and never haven’t, alight me.
Of lulling roofs on rain I’ve dreamt,
seen horses full of themselves,
been to life and back and still
bend in hallow breezes.
For crises come bolting and blindly,
the moon is in control of the sea,
it’s hard not to feel bad and work well
and there are just so many stars.
But night stoops cold and darkly
and, upon me, the silk I lay
drapes diaphanous yet warm enough
to cease the shivering day.
About the contributor: Carson Pytell is a poet living in a very small town outside Albany, NY. His work has appeared in numerous venues online and is currently available or forthcoming in print from such publications as Vita Brevis Press, The Virginia Normal, NoD Magazine, Blue Moon Lit & Art Review, Spank the Carp, Crack the Spine, Futures Trading, Down in the Dirt Magazine, Gideon Poetry Review and Children, Churches & Daddies, among others.
When he isn’t writing, eating, sleeping or picking the blues, Carson enjoys silent and foreign films, documentaries on fellow writers, the music of Townes Van Zandt, the art of Odilon Redon and the politics of absolutely no one.