Cuts of Silence

Your silence is serrated.

Blunt, it saws

jagged at my soul’s bones.

It tears through

clumsily knitted over

compound fractures.

Past is severed from

its moorings

while future

is mercilessly maimed.

The muteness

brutally hacks,

dismembering hope.

 

I am taking correspondence courses

to become a poet-surgeon.

I’m afraid

I’m bleeding out.