My cousin writes from the Grand Canyon.

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My cousin writes from the Grand Canyon.
Naked, she says, and sleeping next to God.
Always in the desert, they find Thee.
They wring Thee from sand
like venom from a lizard's tongue.
Full of God. Full of God.
Millions of pilgrims scoring;
phonebooks wholefully Godful.
Save me.
I have yet to see Thy bearded face.
I've pilgrimmed
your major deserts and found
unscrupulous mechanics   Arizona.
Funnish cowboy brats
swerving in hot cars   Utah.
Depots of pinballing Indians
miserable Saturday Night Neeew Mexico.
But alas, no Thee.
Oh God, I weary of walking the world
for Thee and can't forget
a single girlfriend.
And so O Thunderstriker,
Wavemaker and Creator of Man,
I give Thee a name
and will lie as old Moses
out on the eternal sands
gazing fantasy on the blue
and sparkling stars
unpronounced forever.