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David Spiering: 3 poems
WORKINGMAN'S GUN
He couldn't hold it straight.
It's a spinning
gyroscope
dervish
turning his arm
twisting his hand side ways
upside down
and close to his heart.
He wants to take a walk
with the gun in his pocket.
He wants to
kick leaves; he had
necessary
force to
silence
any bird's
blabber
or
any snake stretched over his
path.
Now he
marches;
he tries
leaning side ways to see if he could
counter balance the gun's atrophy
-- it didn't
work.
He put the gun down.
He admired the gun's oil
blackness
-- black and sleek as a water
moccasin,
only with a fire tongue and lead
fangs
He wrapped the gun in a towel,
put it
in his closet. He stands
in his bay
windows,
his left hand snaked into a pistol
he crawls across his neighbor's
doors and
roof tops,
making a never ending line.
WORKINGMAN'S POT ECSTASY
The workingman's pot vendor answers
the door wearing brightly colored
punchinello pantaloons,
braided hemp sandals, and a tri-colored
beanie cap. "Check out the green stuff,
this, a little wine, some mellowness
and women will follow naturally." he said.
The workingman took the palm-sized
wooden pipe; thinking how his job
pulled his blood dipped roots, and put
them to the sun; he drew a strong
hit, it hurled him to a reclined position;
soon, he felt the Russian onion domes
spinning between his hips, turning
slowly scraping screw driver like
along his spine; before exploding
into a inward shower striking his
skull's inside; he took one more
deep hit; the Russian onion domes
gyrated inside him with tornadic
velocity, his spine top's a nozzle, spraying
full throttle, positive charged ecstasy
light ions on his skull's inside;
he thinks how pot winks with him
for a finical cost;he does not have
to sit in the bar and be teased by women's
orbital buzzing; he can pick his space,
he sits still and the pot does all the work.
JOHN MUIR'S AMERICAN STANDARD
John Muir stands
on the Wisconsin
River's shore near
Portage, using a tree
trunk as a urinal;
he stands back far
enough to keep the liquid
from dappling his pants.
In his mental Muir
Woods, he sees the sulfur
oranging rivers nation
wide, he sees how
the "private pipes"
are political and business
secrets, putting false
faces on their best
intentions to preserve
the environment, giving
tranquility people believe
while increasing the flow
to the private pipes. In his
mind's Muir Woods,
he foresees how people
create his image
on the clouds Mount Rushmore;
Muir knows how people
trust images, and stop
their queries; that way
he know his influence is topical,
easy for public servants
and commerce to dilute
with their public information
piss streams.
David Spiering's work has appeared in ZuZu's Petals and Stark Raving Sanity among others. He live in Eau Claire, WI.
