My thoughts are all in radio
I think of all the trees
I wonder
What’re our frequencies

The northern sky is silent now
Except for scattered thoughts
They’re strangely
Random; there are lots

Running coffee cargo is
A basic modern task
And still I
Wear this freaking mask

All alone I see it all
Our endless paper masks
Although I
Understand, I ask

Why do we wear these faces false
To cover up our being?
Are we all
Shamed by what they’re seeing?

“To thine own self be true,” ’tis said
The words still do ring true
And I doff
My mask…how about you?