Moon Mad
Dust clings to my suit caught
by wafts of imagined vapor,
until I drag, drag, down
the dunes and depressions.
The cold a new arm of guidance.
I’m supposed to be warm,
wadded in comfort lining
but cold, cold, makes me old.
While I wander, sucking my last
breaths of precious oxygen.
I lost my converter, where are you?
Lost my ride, my partner, you-o-you?
Lost my every present guide
on far off Earth, while I rustle
unable to cash in on cattle,
unable to renounce life.
Dingy, dinghy, dazed, and all done.
You got me. Bring me home.
And then the hey-yoouuuu, yodel
somewhere near, hail me, hallelujah!
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