You are not a Jackass.
Or a horse.
You are not a stamp,
Or an asset.
You are the kid picking up the sticks while momma pushes your stroller
Collecting your thoughts like a hand full of heart,
The one lifting the phone to a cavernous ear and calling for help—
and I'm so glad you called—
because you might do something stupid.
You are the one with a fiddler’s hickey,
doing what you do to get you out of bed.
Which might be baking bread in four types of cheese,
And it’s the one time you forgot to take the damn thing out,
The one time you hadn’t set the timer,
is the time you had to sand the toasted walls like a cherry wood table.
Being good means practice.
Means time and stars.
It’s 9 at night and you’re whacking a yellow ball with a racket,
tossing it up, fiddling with its strings.
Listening to the music of your italian crust.
And it’s fine to lay in the crunchy brown grass under a birchwood tree.
Newton did that, and how bout them apples.
It’s fine to look at every leaf, and think of the inner life of sparrows
where one is calling for your peace.
And in all the 1’s and 0’s of our world,
in its symmetry rigid like a 90 degree spine.
There is totally something ambiguous,
Lost in translation,
and covered in a little winged universe
About the author...
David Stobbe is an actor and poet from the Joliet, Illinois, which is known for its prisons and high school symphonic bands. With a B.A. in Musical Theater, he finds a passion in writing about over-exposure. Whether that be sex, information, toxic masculinity, or the self he wants to explore the ridiculous and laughable nature of it all; In our everyday friendships, hookups, the material, all directly affected by casino-like universe in our hands. Through collaboration he wants to harness the potential of the internet, with all of its free content and explore the slow and naive nature of self actualization, romanticized history, selling yourself, and the ever vanishing line of sexuality.
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Check out his work from previous issues: