to cover up. Recirculating their
own breath in a paper cup. They
look as death, these walking zombies
emerging from their places, hiding morose

faces. All you see are beady eyes from
cipher warlocks that scurry by. Paper Mache
on the streets/in the subway. Their smiles
have been erased. They won’t extend

their arm for a handshake. Scared as rats
of what will spread. Boil the sheets of their own
bed. Spraying everything/wiping it
down. Chemicals sit as lice on top of every

frigging device that is found. Sanitizers
everywhere. All I see are fearful stares. It’s
not a world I want to live in, where people
are afraid of touching each other and kissing.