[Gifted no language]

Gifted no language to express our need we had to build our own so we did we made it out of glue ink shit wire a true facsimile of syntax to lash the letters with as Turner on the steam-boat when he commanded the men: “Lash me to the mast so I can better know the storm! Lash me to the smoke so I can better know the fire! Lash me to the worm so I can better know the dirt!”

Lash me to the dirt so I can better taste its  

Lash me to my jaw to I can better face my

Lash me to my actions so I can better bear their

Lash me to myself so I can finally name my  

Lash me to the sunrise so I’ll never face the

Lash me to my origin so I don’t go near the

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Peter Myers is a poet and teacher living in New York. His recent poems have appeared in Fence, Hot Pink Mag, jubilat, and Dusie, and he has written essays and reviews for Annulet, Los Angeles Review of Books, and Chicago Review. His chapbook Brade Lands is forthcoming from above/ground press. He received his MFA in poetry from the Iowa Writers' Workshop.