Zack Sternwalker – 1 poem




The man worms around as the sun sets behind the buildings.

He itches to inhale some of that falling sun air.

The night has the look of creeping on neon signs. Beautiful garlic girls are like neon signs to the man.

The man can be great one second and the next be two skinny eyes on a wall trying to mask his pussy thirst. He walks by reindeers with braces. Physically the man is February snow.

The man breathes and takes in the great street scene. He is agreeable, softly folding things without objection. The man walks calmly through the alone house, folding into his bed with his neck stretched up.

The man shakes hands in his mind but misses.

He walks around his apartment. His heart sits on a bench in his chest.

The man grabs the woman’s hand and his movements go up her arm and make her chew her coffee straw to the beat. The old woman slips on her nightgown and slips her feet into her soft slippers. The man lays pickles out on a plate and squirts a squiggly line of mustard.

The man imagines he is a dragon; shaving and then painting green around his chin.



A plane flies overhead sounding like the man’s ear pressed against a rewinding VCR. The man is still in his room, sprawled out in flappy butt pose clicking around on the internet.

The man sneezes his sleeves different colors as he enters different bars. He is laid on a bed of roses by his own arms.

The man walks around and wipes his nose shrugging. His scalp is rough now, freshly shaven and feeling like an iguana.

The man sees a crow walking under water and he fights with its oxygen bubbles like he’s boxing.

The man arrives to fight a fire and a woman is screaming outside and her shirt is ripped.

The man comforts her, smelling the campfire on her neck. He is surrounded by flames in the woman’s pink bedroom. He runs in slow motion through the burning house with her small dog under his arm like a football.

As the sun sets a fly lands on the man’s forehead and begins to play a bass line with one of his eyebrow hairs. The man returns to the game show with his face wrapped in gauze. He puts his fingers to his temples and forces the pigeon to go back to school.

The man stares at his bland expression while he flosses in the morning. He was just here, standing in front of this same mirror but with another day’s night.



The man’s mouth wrings him out over flaming birthday candles. He sings an additional note to poke another note through a keyhole.

The man sighs as garlic bread takes off its shoes inside his nose. His belly bulges from a big dinner and too many pieces of dessert chocolate.

The man’s tongue checks the rules for entering a jewelry store. It continues on, growing longer and spearing a couple of jerseys on the ground.

The man’s tongue switches fake mustaches in a MacDonald’s bathroom. It waits, arms folded for its shadow to turn off the sink faucet.

The man listens to the loud flutter of a woodpecker flying off a rocking chair.

The man beats a city dove with a pizza slice until it turns to wood.

The man slides his thumb up the spine of a trout. A bee comes down and lands on his shrinking penis.

The man bites off the popsicle tip and chews it fast. He opens his mouth to let the hot chilli steam escape from his on-fire mouth.

The man smiles at his sheepish lover as she smiles bright on this never-ending Sabbath. He lounges, dipping his frozen fingertips into his pants.

The man sits here trying to sputter up some head image so a thought can be spurred. He holds the cold soda while his knees knock.

The man goes about his business ignoring the temptation to watch two men fight or a couple fuck. He pulls his legs in for someone to pass. 



Zack Sternwalker is an artist living in Philadelphia. He posts his drawings on Instagram at #zsternwalker


About gobbet

gobbet is a literary magazine dedicated to publishing the very best experimental poetry and prose. Intellectual perversity and explorations of dark themes are positively encouraged. We are only interested in work that is progressively experimental. We want to see risks, and we want to see them pay. No previously published work. Prose should not be longer than 1000 words. There are always exceptions. Send 3-5 poems. Include a short bio. Send submissions to Work will be published every 5-10 days. We also intend to publish anthologies of selected work published in gobbet. We will do our best to reply promptly. Most submissions will receive a decision within a month.
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