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

 

welcome

if I am the hand of God

let the gates be the bell.