Domestic Bliss by David Spicer

Did Proust visit antique shops
in Vienna? Blowing that tuba
of a question at me, you glowed
at me with the sapphires you held.
Pipe smoke fogged my praises
of your damp hair, and you stumbled
into the yellow bed sheets, naked, barefoot.
Happy. Drew a cartoon for the lonely
mailman who had informed you about frost
near the prison river at dawn. Feverish
and crawling from the captain’s chair
to pop my pill, I swallowed a beer.
The moon swelled, a white spider
without legs, without a worry in the world.

David Spicer has had poems in The American Poetry Review, Ploughshares, Gargoyle, Mad Swirl, Reed Magazine, Slim Volume, The New Verse News, The Laughing Dog, Chiron Review, Easy Street, Bad Acid Laboratories, Inc., Dead Snakes, among others, and in the anthologies Silent Voices: Recent American Poems on Nature (Ally Press, 1978), Perfect in Their Art: Poems on Boxing From Homer to Ali (Southern Illinois University Press, 2003), and A Galaxy of Starfish: An Anthology of Modern Surrealism (Salo Press, 2016). He has been nominated for a Best of the Net twice and a Pushcart, and is the author of one full-length collection of poems, Everybody Has a Story (St. Luke’s Press, 1987), and four chapbooks. He is also the former editor of Raccoon, Outlaw, and Ion Books. He lives in Memphis, Tennessee.

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