Getting Ahold of You

Get ahold of you getting ahold of them
Get ahold an atheist in a coffee fizz
Mars on the red corner
calling out on the telephone
Ms. Medusa on the blue corner
turning me into stone

and I am alone,

in blades of grass, wounded
I surely need my fix
I didn’t know you were headed
Home, my prose kiss
the lipless

as doggerels can only cope
All their words turn to tumbleweeds;
I’d like to go to Venus, elope
with her and hit the moon
but I know she won’t be flying anywhere soon,
I still walk in the dusty fields

until I get ahold of them getting ahold of you
When you can get ahold of me in a tumbleweed

and I am alone,

drifting just in time to get home
I was hoping you were not sculpted like everybody else
and holding that chisel
to get ahold of me to be carved for your collection;
Fix your telephone instead, maybe I’ll get ahold of you
Close your eyes, maybe you’ll see more,
maybe you’ll break the wall that gets ahold of us, with Mars on the telephone,
Ms. Medusa turning me to stone, while I’m all alone,
in blades of grass, wounded,

I didn’t know you were headed
Home; yes darling, I surely need my fix
my stone-cold prose can only kiss
what is lipless