Breathing Hot Air

He sits silent, suffering, unable to keep still
hands together gratefully, thumbs in dialogue,
Leans back into himself and out of conversation but...

Waiting, hearing the emptiness so loud he can't
Listen to anything else as he's counting thoughts,
Irregular clock, fuck! how long has it been?

There is a deliberateness in his response to a word
sounding stark inside the soundless scene, like,
like sucking all the escaping smoke and coughing

Fits and stammers do more to help the hated silence
than break it:
He clears his throat, begins to speak his turn,

But someone else takes it.