For David Spicer from Hekate and Alex Z. Salinas

Last month David Spicer sent me his Mad Sestina King, a book of poetry just published. I loved it and wrote him a note to that effect but didn’t hear back. This week, Nancy, his wife, replied using his email address: David had two massive strokes and was placed on a ventilator at St. Francis Hospital in Memphis. She was told he likely wouldn’t survive.

Hearts go out to David and Nancy.

Hispanic sonnet, or End of American maniac

By Alex Z. Salinas

for David Spicer

David, you’re dying / but it feels as tho

You’ve written yourself out of death.

Sestina King, American Maniac, your

Mind let go but the machines keep you

Breathing. For now. Not much longer.

Remember you told me how in 1980

You accompanied Denis Johnson to an

Arizona prison to visit a mutual friend? You

Said Denis was a marvelous man & writer

And minutes later that Hollywood’ll fuck

Anything up, Shelley’s Frankenstein as

Proof. You blurbed I had cojones to publish

Poems about God. Naw. David, I have to

Tell you, before goodbye, grab the nearest 

Partner. Dance. This life. Unbearably sad. Precious.