May 14, 2021

Stephen Vincent – from Sleeping with Sappho

Stephen Vincent

from Sleeping with Sappho

Some women dream rabbit, three in shadow,

Three in light

And there are others who only a wolf inside the door

Few dream what hates.

Hard to confuse many by one

For the woman, call her Carrie,

Who stays constant, leaves no one

Behind the door, silken among roses

Yes to her lover and yes again

      No to abandonment, no

     To the rabbit’s fondling fur

            In a dark


                      The silhouette

                      She who arrives


At odds with me as ever,

Diana, you and your odd wardrobe

To which no one cottons

Never mind the rich without taste

I throw over all my awards

First at Art and then at Peace

And “get out of Dodge”

Before you tamper the crossings on the Road

Or, might I add, before you call

On your father and that sister, Eleanor

He with the bruised looking teats

And she with the two lost children:

Unholy, ugly

Still not a maiden to touch

Sorry, but mind you, still pigeon-toed


Or, better yet,

Don’t even arrive.


stars with no moon

luminous to a fault

here comes Mars

pink, full

and, oh, so close.



Forget it   Absolutely

No cats:

            A goat?

            Well, the goat!


To Stephanie

Over there, a limited estate

And no companions

And, what can I say,

Prowling the coastline

A harpoon without pity

She rides a horse

With silk on the saddle.



                            Tender my lips

                         The guttural muffled trumpet

                         The fresh skin around my breasts

                                Unbearably dark hair

                                    Goat thighs

                                    Elk vagina

                          I did everything

                          Impossible as Acacia & allergies

                          Bleeding the noses around us

                          What is released

                          Goes to …

                          What falls in a wild Iris

                          As much as I love the rough butch

                          Shadows and shade do not repel me.



Permit me to turn

Calm my rage

Comb my heart with bells

The low hanging fuchsia

The red petals trembling, rain.



       Bitter vowels, closed lips

       Elbow raised




                  Hot bust:

The dip, a little arc’d

Some say

A man.




Shorts stitched

White silicon

Hot gold zipper

Calves swollen


Untied, dangling

The varnished mirror

Pine – ‘tongue & groove’ – floor.


In back

Take it off


I will resist


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