[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
music.
Lash me to my jaw to I can better face my
hunger.
Lash me to my actions so I can better bear their
meaning.
Lash me to myself so I can finally name my
edges.
Lash me to the sunrise so I’ll never face the
night.
Lash me to my origin so I don’t go near the
water.
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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.
Lash me to the dirt so I can better taste its
music.
Lash me to my jaw to I can better face my
hunger.
Lash me to my actions so I can better bear their
meaning.
Lash me to myself so I can finally name my
edges.
Lash me to the sunrise so I’ll never face the
night.
Lash me to my origin so I don’t go near the
water.
︎Add “[Gifted no language]” to cart
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.
