/ 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.