SCORCHED

3 a.m. 
and the road out here
is quiet as the moon

normally some solitary soul 
would be puttering by even
at this hour but
it's Easter morn and
everyone's sleeping on
their modified plans

no mass (no mas)
and you've got no one
to model your bonnet for
but you've got that chocolate
bunny you will mash into
your face at the appropriate moment
fingers all black and sticky
with the mortal sin of it but
on the third day you will rise
and begin your diet

no rest for me
up working again
on the new book
still trying to learn how
after all this time
to fit into this skin
less awkwardly
to be a "person"
inhabiting a planet
and to tone down the 
frightful jitters of that

not my nature to feel at ease
inside this meat suit
(something I've seldom 
talked about)  

having decided
that burning the candle
at both ends  
is the only thing
that will distract me
from the terrible Mork-ness of it

I'm not from around here

and I've given up fighting
the insomnia
just incorporated
the extra hours into my 
routineless routine

still trying to skate by
beneath this scorched
and blackened sky