Silence is the dreaded distraction
What do you do with your hands?
With your stomach growling?
Your heart pounding?
Your head spinning?
Too much sound,
too much movement,
too much space,
too many thoughts carrying you away
You’re splattered all over the place, Mr. Big
The room’s growing smaller by the minute
It will fit on the head of a pin if she doesn’t say something
You long for diversion to break the intimacy
Fill it up Big, Mr. Big
With words,
with food,
with work to do
Make it larger, so the parts don’t fit together
Spread them out as countries, even continents
Oceans away, other time zones
Not this