The Lord Types On Skeleton Keys

handless bones on your face in the morning
waxy skin cracked by the dawn

after the blessing of an angel's presence
there is always a curse

a countdown
a clicking ticking sound

as flesh tightens and crumbles
and becomes subject to counting

dust gathers about you
and beckons

earthen words on plastic keyboards
won't save you

racing hearts find the finish faster
after all

sometimes a blessing
is the end