The killer is silent. Roaming the world in a coded puzzle of toxic fear. Stalking indiscriminately the strong, weak, young, and old. It’s thievery is eroding the fabric of implied safety coveted by first world dwellers. Coughing chemistry into clouds of unidentified hostility, we grasp the air that we once took for granted. Jesus waits in a quarantined cathedral, taking a year off from his passion play reviews. Snot dripping sinus beauties still enjoy the flowery buds yet watching for gawkers and close talkers. Standing silent statue apart learning valuable lessons in personal space. The horny and lonely find themselves in masturbatory rendezvous with left over fantasies stockpiled like toilet paper. Singing blues songs about forgotten social scenes, now limited to make believe or virtual communing. This is the time of the awakening to the entitlements that ruined us as a society. Facing the truth that intimacy is greater than sex, especially when it’s been restricted by precautionary measures. Embracing becomes the yearned for prize in a casket lottery waiting period. Viral cities fall silent in the scope of deaths ringing bells. Hope still gives a fuck, waking each day with a mighty roar while sadness keeps us sober, even when drunk. This is echoed into the corners of earths waiting rooms and vacant shopping centers. The damn masked miracle workers risking storm upon storm to bulls better life rafts and brighter lighthouses. We are liking for the shore, yet we all seem content to ride it out until we see the sun once more. May we tether hearts to one another and anchor our vessels to whatever it is that keeps us here.