“Oh, my God, it’s so embarrassing. I can’t believe I’m doing this,” says Stewart, before doing exactly this and reading the poem aloud:
My Heart Is A Wiffle Ball/Freedom Pole
I reared digital moonlight
You read its clock, scrawled neon across that black
Kismetly … ubiquitously crest fallen
Thrown down to strafe your foothills
…I’ll suck the bones pretty.
Your nature perforated the abrasive organ pumps
Spray painted everything known to man,
Stream rushed through and all out into
Something Whilst the crackling stare down sun snuck
Through our windows boarded up
He hit your flint face and it sparked.
And I bellowed and you parked
We reached Marfa.
One honest day up on this freedom pole
Devils not done digging
He’s speaking in tongues all along the pan handle
And this pining erosion is getting dust in
My eyes
And I’m drunk on your morsels
And so I look down the line
Your every twitch hand drum salute
Salutes mine …
“I like being able to hit on something, like, ‘There it is.’” Stewart continues. “I don’t want to sound so fucking utterly pretentious but after I write something, I go, ‘Holy fuck, that’s crazy.’
Photo: Michael Loccisano; via Marie Claire
