roots to youth by Vincent Carafano


between the textures of

our fine language


the tv ran in perpetuity

wake then


dozing funnies, a

small mouth


as yours                                                likes powdered

                                                            donuts, the lick of stamps,

                                                            paper anything




gem show by Vincent Carafano

maranatha in your used car    thick malaise

it's true we've got a wage and nothing will be spared


beyond the saguaro Zevon trumps all day tower clouds

and raw chuffed cigarillos, I believe you taught me


distraction theology in this world is the pronged sterling squashblossom,

the singer-wizards, and the lovesick,


I don't yet know the sweet lonesome and don't stop til I do


by Vincent Carafano


wielding tenor    for three summers

     I prayed you’d catch


a deep grip of the unknown sub rhythm

     and manifest alone


you are welcome in my backyard


on the bed    I showed you a gun

the bullets clipped-out   

       across the satin spread    


on the boat    you kept to the back

hissing at the dog with

raw meat   


in your mouth    welcome



if I am the hand of God

let the gates be the bell.