Joseph P. Wood



Excerpts from "Vyvanse: A Boomerang Sequence"


Inside this capsule must be birdseed:
arm flap hawk gaze torso a soaring
cloud-lightness—jaw drop, touch cheek.
Honey, inside this capsule must be birdseed:
I can eye your eye, can rip the ragweed
out from my tongue—flooring—
Inside your capsule is that really birdseed?
Flap your arm. Gaze like a hawk. Make me sore.




A mistake: the subject enabling the verb—
I, born—never to bear—each thin bed
of mispredictions, of mores—I, curbed
by my subjects—mistake: enabling the verb
I wrote severed like a child—eyes turned
to sparrows in negative space—my head
the subject, a mistake enabled—the verb
never to bore or bear—I, each, thin, bed.




From the lookout's steal beams: a drunk coldly
billows from his mouth—he carries a snow
globe—shaking—he, I—fake flakes in a row,
we steal the others look—the drunk beams cold
radio waves—charged, we merge—and are sold
short by speech—we try to budge and tow
each other from the lookout—he steels the cold
from my mouth—billows and carries the snow.




We has failed. Loss is no where. Captured,
our hands slip apart—every word is a mountain
to diminish the other's I—our self a fracture
of failure. We is lossNo has captured
each dark clad butcher inside us. The juncture
yawns out. The future unfurls—the certain
failure is ILoss a new where. Captured,
every words slips—apart comes the mountains.