The Logarithmic Death

I'm on a learning curve and learned today a straight line means exponential growth, and the steeper the line, the faster the death toll. You saw the number of death this morning? The tiresome business is all over again. The stock of coffins dwindling dazed with grief, I leaf the morning paper, swallowed up by virus's treachery, racing like a wildfire. Will it die a natural death? Its insatiable appetite for death solicits more concessions from humans who no longer have individual destinies, only collective destinies. We either find a rift in its wall of fire or succumb to our bereavement and anxiety. I'm on holiday without pay auto-isolating long before the decree, calculating the mathematics of defeat, asking how will it be in three or six months? and how close to virus's guillotine? Through aeons of cold thoughts frost in sheer chasm no sun moon or star earth empty bizarre hell's grim phantasm dust into dust blown where ghosts jug on the sidewalks each one six feet apart, alone in retreat like ghouls of lonely cemeteries wraiths of uneasy covenant too afraid to surmise the brave salutation of a passerby.