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Pale pals, pots and pans,
we modulate through harm.
We ride our bathtubs to the bottom of the East River
in search of the second sleep of night;
fix a shopping cart as a sidecar
in case the bathtub doesn’t work right.
We are marred to an unfaithful world in a sulfurous green light.
A blue star does its part for shoplifters in the woods;
it’s prenatal syntax for problem children in year 16.
Tetanus plus catharsis.
Name tags and needles
where people ate themselves.
Flip-book sex shows through wired glass,
and a grape Nehi on the first day out of the hospital.
The yawn is ripped from the mornings mouth
as our souls are weighed in orange peel ashtrays.
I am dumbstruck by a dump-truck.
I hold my hand over my heart as failure tugs me across the street
to a twenty-year come down that leaves me conditional,
dry-bawling at the trustee for them to take the helmet off.
No flag for this country,
of Dante wolves and illegal brambles,
beer bottle sunsets and ambulance moons.
I would core my memories to run,
but love pummels me and holds me in check.
The stoplight trines with my iris as blurred red cathedrals
suspend themselves in geometry with no home.
Bravo maestro of the Poetic Word..we applaud you for enlightening our already Painted Brains with gripping insight and Poetic Misanthrope longing for Love in a stigmatized, about mental illness, crazed world where humanity is sometimes cruel and the hope that we would finally Come Together in Love and Peace…Cudos to you Stewart for inspiring wth your Profound and Prophetic Poetry….a smile your way