Dirtbag Sappho: The Fragments



The people who care about us

haven’t been born yet.

Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here.


Now, the plan is:

I’m going to have a ton of friends

and everybody listens to me sing (beautifully).

That’s the plan.


“He is dying, Aphrodite;

that luxury-sex supplier Adonis

so what are we supposed to do?”

“Smack each other’s tits around, I guess,

And rip your own clothes off

until I can supply you with another hot shit-stirrer.”


The moon is well gone. All the stars set.

            It’s way late, my window’s open.

                        You should have snuck in it

hours ago.


I love, I guess, touching

and also when touching is warm

YOU know what I mean.


I want things.

Also: I want things.



can Fuck himself right out of my inner circle



Kicking himself,

extremely nude,

straight out of heaven.


Would like to announce that once again I have been downgraded

a little further down the food chain, thanks to

love. So whatever crawls now, that’s me.


Those gnarled-up trees the mountain wind

is just an absolute ass to, pummeling,

that’s what love did to me.


so whatever else happens, Atthis, just remember

who loved you before you got tits

and a driver’s license


But I’m old pancakes, I get it,

and Andromeda is a fresh batch of hot breakfast

straight from the country,

and I think it’s great you’re taking her under your wing

maybe while you’re at it, you can teach her how to tie her gowns

somewhere other than the absolute thickest part of her legs!

Unless maybe it is part of her country charm,

that she looks so much like a tree stump from the waist down.

Style is out!

Andromeda is in!


So Attis is gone, and I’m just corpse-waiting in the interim.

But her leaving was full-sore of snotty tears,

real ones,

all: “ohno, Sappho” and “how much we both suffer, Sappho”

and “I really do leave you all against my will.”

Which maybe true, maybe wasn’t, but I choose to take at face value. So I told her to go happy, if she could, remembering how my heart –

And if she forgot, there were always flowers to look at to remind her:

all the garlands of violets and sweet rose mingled,

the daily necklaces I wove of blossoms for her throat,

and we had soft beds for passion-settling in,

never missed a dance,

never failed to stop the car and bang it out by the side of the road when a spot looked promising

That was real.


“where does virginity go afterwards”

where does virGINITY go afterwards

not back to your house, that’s for sure”


Her? an apple, sweet,

red and getting redder,

just above finger-height, tip-top on the tree,

up and up and out of reach.


Her? A mountain flower,


smearing sunset into the ground.


Him? Okay uhh

how would I describe her boyfriend

he is most like mmmmmm….

pea shoots

man, I don’t know –

please do not ask any follow-up questions