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!