Confessional, a collection of forty-nine poems,  explores the speaker's memories of a dysfunctional childhood and adolescence as he navigates his obsessions with language, art, and culture while struggling with complexities of interpersonal relationships.

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American Maniac


Spicer’s title character leads us on a road trip in an ironic and iconic white Cadillac, traversing through the underbelly of America in this panorama of love gone wrong, sex, perversion, rock and roll, drugs, bigotry, radical politics, hypocrisy, and violence run amok. Often depicted in hues of indicting black humor, wicked satire, and twisted passion, American Maniac promises a wild and wacky roller-coaster ride across the highways of the American psyche that have become more common with each passing day. 


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Waiting for the Needle Rain



David Spicer's voice is a rare original. The speaker of Waiting for the Needle Rain is no ivory-tower dweller, rather a rough, even shocking working class man in a roughneck world. “Whataya Say” starts: Thank you for answering the ad. If you want a spot on my delivery truck, arrive prepared to follow me. We do—to someone who doesn't know where the Louvre is, or how long Queen E has reigned but says Give me the murder channel, some apricot schnapps, and a little bush I can dicker with. A Spicer type—not just another sonofabitch humpback with gangrene, sipping burgundy, but also a former violin prodigy—unveils better than any PhD the mudslides of politics, popular culture, and slaughtered dreams. His revving diction can be resigned: When white roses love fire . . . it will be time to launch the Jupiter missiles and portray ourselves as gods we are not. But this terrific realistic representative of real men rises into a passionate continuity worthy of the Romantics: I’ll scatter like a baseball player from a dugout, shine with my medals . . . and ascend past the clouds like Jesus did way back when.

                                                                                           –-Alane Rollings, author of To Be in This Number

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Tribe of Two


In David Spicer’s Tribe of Two the poet, struck by “the aria of her beehive hairdo,”encounters his wild, erratic muse. He spies, pursues then hooks up with this irreverent, energetic woman he has often imagined. These twenty-one exuberant, but tender poems are a joyride from the couple’s first encounter to their inevitable parting. No yearnings are secret and any crime, real or imagined, becomes part of the texture of the raunchy good times they share. These lovers are equal in appetite and part of Spicer’s gift is that this pair is experienced as utterly beautiful and enviable. For this crazy time they are each other’s guardians in the unpredictable wilderness of a difficult world. Tribe of Two makes vivid passion’s endurance in memory and whether you are 17 or 64, reading it is likely to make you smile.


                                                     --Jody Stewart, author of Ghost Farm and The Red Window

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From the Limbs of a Pear Tree


Surreal, quirky, energetic and riveting, these are poems that scintillate with unforgettable images.

Spicer is an alchemist of language and an astute observer of foibles.  As he notes “my thoughts of you linger/in the anguish of suffering’s/playground” or “I learned to conceal/the private lake/in my foolish heart.”  Attempting to effectively excerpt these poems is like trying to lasso a whirlwind. Just read and relish.

                                                                                                                                    --Joan Colby

David Spicer is a poetic genius, a lover of women: ice queens, mermaid wannabes, that “serial heartbreaker with woozy Bardot eyes…” He imagines underground thumps as God’s heartbeat, gives invaluable graveyard tips, like not crumbling at bad news, but feeling “the quickness of cardinals approaching hares.” I can’t get enough of Spicer, the most brutally sincere poet to ever appear in my e-zine, Yellow Mama.

                                                                                                                             --Cindy Rosmus

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Everybody Has a Story


There is a wonderful eroticism in these poems, both of the mind and the body. David Spicer's imagination, like his "man who wore the beautiful hats," has a prestidigitator's finesse, but if the physical world disappears before your eyes in these poems, it is because the word of the mind is made even more intense. This poet will give you another look at reality, one such as quantum physicists also dream about.

                                                                                                                           -- Diane Wakoski

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