the lake my parents live on
looks like the accumulation
of their neighbors dip spit.
a moat surrounding John Deere
tractors, pickup trucks,
lawn signs that read “Thank You Jesus”.
sewage run off carrying
McDonald’s bags and NRA bumper stickers.
small wooded islands are interspaced
with the sounds of frogs and Fox News
playing on televisions.
devout naysayers huddle on boats,
sharing stories of one-
sided celebrations with right-
if you pray hard enough, drowning
victims will be saved and fish will be caught.
bread will be broken
with those who float
above the deep subaqueous silence.
Chryste says we are our own planets
inside of a dive bar,
pulling men into our gravitational fields.
but I feel like an astronaut,
invisibly free falling
on the fringes of every celestial body.
I lock eyes with a trail of comets,
ensorcell a protostar,
blush in the presence of a red giant.
in the slow descent,
my beer boils,
forming tiny crystals
that encircle my head.
cosmic rays permanently toxify my body
through string lights and neon signs.
I am illumined
or maybe I’m drunk.
in warmer times we are
overwhelmingly minced up
into large rolling
dew drops gliding
over asphalt and screeching
to a halt with metal
bones and rubber
senses pounding our metal feelings through
glass or air that was once glass until it fell
away from the rusted skin
buried deep inside of a secret
compartment with an unknown depth
please open my hood
the light is on again