The Answering Service of The Muse                                                                                               

A Poem Richard Weaver

Talking with you
is like cutting open a cat
to read the mice’s bones.

No matter how the words land
they are glass
falling from your lips.
I listen with my eyes
like a deaf mute,
and talk with my hands,
each finger a tongue
mouthing the smooth
alphabet of scars.


Posted

in

by