As I stand in line, the Post Office hustles within the quiet space occupied between six feet and the old sounds of the world are silenced behind Pandora’s pretty pink bedazzled face mask.
My smirk besmirched in a similar way my mind quickly quips out this atonement for the loss of social repertoire and the tables I dance upon so that people shall never forget.
“A muzzled myth no more what people fail to say for muzzled lips eclipsed by clothe and circumstance call the sheep away.
Keep not the clothe content nor counterfeit your concerns.
Speak beyond and through the layers as lunatics do and keep the sheep content within their eclipse of muzzled lips.”
And with a digital quill my will is displayed and the words of my feelings tap dance all over the ceiling.