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ditchwaterghost.bsky.social
Poet. Joto. Mark maker. Author of 'ditch water ' poems 2013 and 'broken mesas' poems 2021 Korima Press. Owner of Barren Mesa
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...and it writhes in the arroyo, this half-clad god of agave, with its hand down my pants...

Suffering under the boots of the ocotillo gods

Barren Mesa in the house

Dirty my tongue with the storms brewing in your cock

#jotolicious in the new era

Snorting lines of poetry with the tin can god

Constellation of cum stains, these jeans are omens, denim stinking of pine wood

Undressing for the slivered moon; praying for salt gods; shirtless ditch runners and lost foxes.

To a new year. To the mad ones, the wild ones, the drunk ones, the lost, the proud whores, the nihilists, the naked, the forgotten, the dead and those alive; to the old gods and the new gods, to the fallen, to the risen: may the new year be whatever you want of it, embrace it all - be you!

Your cock heat clacking at the roof of my mouth

So ends another year...another collection of stories and roads and old smokes and older songs...so ends the final gasp of seasons, the end of saturnalia, the solstice, the deep clawing open of deserts with winter winds. The scent of creosote at the hem of these well-worn jeans.

The gods that fuck the sky loose of shadows

Collecting salt odes in my mouth.

Cutting the stink from my fingertips, these blunt edges, this stink of my sweat

My cock, a composer of dirty poems

#jotolicious #dumpsterpoet

Let the stink of sky stain you

Fuck a poem into my mouth

A god of shovel, a god of shaved stone.

Rising to meet the sweat off your balls is an act of prayer.

The god fucking

Howling to get fucked by the moon

Cock hard. Cool outside. Sound of dogs barking as I smoke the last of the frajos.

My cock smells like rain

Scent of poems on my palm

The stuttering moon smiles at the purpled sky

Smell of mountain dirt on his cock

Cough of dirt poems into the fallen sky

Patch of skull - bit of calcium - fragment of eggshell - of battered hooves and hides of autumn wind.

Pirated smoke ghosts that fade into the saguaro shadows

The scent of bees wax - the coated chest- the naked rock in the mouth.

The aluminum taste of balded mountains that cut and swirl their tongues in the slip dark of men twice their age, the loose dirt we collect under the fingernails