I’m laying on a lakebed 40 miles North of Barstow 
And I’m thinking about bucket hats as something you can
barf into, 
Heart strings that sting,
And the magic’s hitting like it’s hurting, feeling like a
horny Himbo 
And the sky right now I mean like Jesus fucking christ — 
A universe cathedral. 
Milky Way the arches, 
Praising something like itself and my back’s on the dirt
and there go the desert gods of aliens, winking at me and
the hand’s outreached and you come to view, at least to
mind, I wonder where you’ve been, wonder if you’d stay,
wonder if I’d keep you if you did,
wonder if the Gods up in the sky that zoom and zoom
are but tensioned boredom,
precursor of grief which befalls always at the end,
and if Gods like wistful love
are just longing, laying, pining need for you
to lift me off the ground,
then perhaps this taste piercing my throat
salivating for salvation,
knowing how I want you knowing now I need you.
that’s Venus rising to the left and just above our Moon.