moon walk

battered rock
i call my home
scattered soul
so like my own

lander, lander
mighty moon lander
how do you stand there

laughter, laughter
cosmic fool laughter
now stand do you where

wearing fancy suits
to survive
elements
not meant
to be survived.

thriving where there
is lack of air - up here,
over there, near that rock
tossed about and now lodged
near the edge of a crater over-
looking yet another lost moon-
base to discover. hover over
here longer, breathing air
piped in and recycled at
the molecular level it's
sometimes over-
whelming when
you step out
on the sur-
face of the
moon and
the view
that stares
back at you
is your own.

stan stops
and stares as
air escapes his
lungs - the sound
of his breathing the
only sound. then a
beep. a distant
whir perhaps
then these
simple sounds
connecting to form
some semblance of
a poem or small slice
of prose forced into
vertical lines.

stan scans the horizon,
looking for any others
who survived out here
after cutting off forms
of communication like
forms in a bursars off-
ice.

mars has ice they say,
stan says to himself,
then begins to hum.

the horrendously
huge spans of
space from one
base to the next
are better filled with
humming and a dull
mind moreso than thoughts
on the existence of man and
wherein... but there he goes
again. it's confusing.

the tune changes, but
it's a tune to allow him
to make the walk back
to his own pod. virtual
walk or not it seemed
like a good spot to stop
and write a line or two
for the poem to come
out from the bowels of
the internet on the day
of his departure. that
epic beast like sisy-
phus never being
completed. the
lines of the song
he was humming
suddenly seem to
contain the same
beats as the words
wrapping from one
line to the next in
his mind and next
to mine.

the scenery changes.
back home. pod
number eight
still up into
the early
hours.
so
poetry
processed
promisingly
proceeding from
one form to an-
other. and an-
other. and am
i wandering too
far from home-
base?

perhaps,
perhaps,
perhaps.