Critique me

hey guys,
i was wondering if anyone would be interested in critiquing a poem i just wrote recently? kind of rough but id really like some opinions. (sorry this is kind of tangent to the purpose of this forum)

OK GOD.

I find myself sitting out in the desert
Just me a cooler of beer and this folding chair
Nothing else to do today
No one else around today
Clouds are starting to whisper in
The horses are getting restless
Damned if I’m not either
Perspiration drips off my bottle
The only moist ground for miles
Something about this dry air
Makes me think I’m infinite
Something about this cold beer
Makes me think that’s irrelevant
Maybe I’ll just sit here the whole damn week
Smoke a carton of Marlboros down to two hundred filters
I’m beyond money
I’m beyond earth
I’ve already started traveling without leaving my folding chair
Sure, my body is confined, and my time imprisoned
But that doesn’t mean a good ol boy can’t daydream
He can daydream all he wants
Until that last bottle is bone dry, just like everything else
Mike’s old sheepdog Zack comes up next to me
Panting
Don’t know what ever happened to Mike
But the dog sure took a liking to me
I poor out some fresh beer on the ground
He laps up the dirty alcohol
Pleased to have something wet in his mouth
These clouds have started talking amongst themselves
If I had to guess I’d say that
The storm will break sometime this evening
Shit, I’d as soon stay out and catch a shower
Then leave this chair out here by itself
I can taste dust and electricity in each breath
I can taste nostalgia in each drag of smoke
Couldn’t tell you why
Everything I’ve ever left is right here with me
The storm is just drifting in
The horses aren’t even stirring anymore
They known I’ve no place to put them
Zach’s resting with his eyes open
The mutt wouldn’t know what to do if
I got out of this chair
Tell you the truth,
I’m just so damn thirsty
If I had to guess I’d say that
Mike went to go find water
Took a pack of smokes with him
Poor bastard was probably face up in the sun
Holding that last filter, with two drags of smoke left and an ember
Laughing himself to death
Looking right at the sun
That dumb bastard always did stare into it
Sometimes I think I could be anywhere else
But I know that I’m never leaving
I know I’ll never get the nerve
I only get the dreams
And shit, those cost less than this beer
I’m not too inclined to spend money on
Something that doesn’t come in a 12-pack, anyway
Tell you the truth,
I used to be so damn thirsty.