The Summer I Got Bit
Playlist by Joss BartonThe Summer I Got Bit is the second self-published long form poem from Saint Louis writer Joss Barton. Described as an epic breakup poem, a disco death dream, and a dance for america's dead, The Summer I Got Bit charts the psychedelic grief journey of a trans woman as she processes the end of love in the midst of an authoritarian fascist death parade while dancing herself to healing under the soundtrack of radical femme disco balls. To order the collection, follow Joss @ganjacum_ on Instagram and message for details.
Prologue
The summer I got bit I was high on ‘mones, tits had finally done popped after a long cold winter of dry acrid snow, meth tweaker trade, and swinging transsexual suicides. The Obamas were basking in the glow of effervescent drone bomb Hollywood lights. The climate was moist with parasite eggs and simmering global resentments. My gas bill was in collections, my hair bloomed into black soft tranny tussles, I kept white box fans spinning in the corners of my shotgun apartment to supplement the black mold winds spurting from the single discount window unit air conditioner lodged beside my open mattress, my nipples became sore and begged to be punished, my cock entered into a manic state of bipolar exuberance, stiff as a rod one morning and dead as the deacon’s bench the next night, my asshole became prized on the chaser streets of Saint Louis: FREE & FUN TO FUCK.
A shemale I had yet to become,
but a ts breast bud I was willing to mold into bright ceramic glazed fornications.
Poppers for breakfast,
anal cream pies advertised during married lunch break hours,
cock sucking until the jaw locked and all I could chew were the bleached yogurts of young scrubby dutch sons.
The summer I got bit, he was working at Walgreens in an existential portal of corporate necro-nihilism.
The summer I got bit, we met for coffee and end of shift French pastries after chatting and texting for a week
on the online dating app we logged onto with mindless myopia, assuming the digital dance would fade,
like it always did in our previous attempts at dealing with end of decade dating inside these mud river city limits.
The summer I got bit, the myth of the cis-het male unicorn seemed to come alive in his bullet copper lips and milk neck.
We dropped molly and fucked until the sun rose, drenched his sheets in cum and sweat and fragrant anal mucus.
We cried in each other’s arms understanding what love finally felt like and promised to never let go of these holy moments.
The summer I got bit, it all seemed like a dream full of warm pink noise, our frequencies melted
together in glorious harmony like some Hallmark commercial for trannies falling in love.
The summer I got bit, my legs became a buffet for mosquito mothers drinking my spirobloated blood
to nourish the proboscis lip vampires pulsating inside their white insect wombs. My transsexual body
a vector for gnawing gnats, a map of larval desires, a verse to memorize until the words slice past the bone.
The summer I got bit, we had already endured the hells of chronic depression, cocaine binges, ketamine therapy,
inheritance lump sums, necro-election results, more statistics of dead trans women, love poems
that prick the blood, nights and throats soaked with tears of grain alcohol, pill bottles vomiting from
the mouths of holy mother disco balls, stages coated in gold and silver tranny prophecy, hypnotizing
audiences to stand in glorious awe of my sins, ripping apart letters from home that reminded us where we buried the bodies.
The summer we got bit, a virus of the mind begins to breed somewhere on the other side of the world,
and like this love dream,
it has one
hell
of
a
bite.
I
As the temperature dropped and twisters ripped a scar across Kansas, Missouri, Ohio,
Arkansas:
as the Dow dropped as Nasdaq plummeted as Chinese exports and steels and precious
metals
sharpened their teeth on barb wire: as molotov cocktails bloomed in Hong Kong: as
El Paso became a killing field:
we hung coat hangers up our cunts to scratch out the silver strike door: FUCK BIG
BROTHER
THE EYE-KING: THOMPSON FOR SHERIFF: A 70’s DREAM IN TRANSSEXUAL
HORROR SET ON AN ISLAND OF CUM PIGS
scored with ice picks, cymbals, beehive bells, locust death screams, the limp body of a
dead possum skinned to the
red flesh and pentagram circle opening portals to a new fertility curse mutations of fetal
tissue
growing rodent eyes and marsupial genitals hairless coiled tails and blood soaked teeth
gnawing
out the womb: A NEW LIFE TO BLESS: A NEW CHILD TO SACRIFICE ON THE
AMERICAN TOMBSTONE:
A NEW STEP CLOSER TO GILEAD: The monster roosts on bat colony cracked wing
flesh
the sharp teeth cutting through yolk and neon nuclear blood or the gauze stuffed in mouths
swallowin’
another mountain another moth another mother breast beat nipples raw diarrhea rollin’ down
guts
through ass down legs down tits: a bunch of drag queens and faggots snatched in nude
pumps colored pencils
on the carpet a future artifact of this whiteboard world a whiteness breaking teeth and
bleeding gums and digging ditches:
Amsterdam tears falling into the vodka crans the disco lights morphing into molecules
of faggots
fucking on the walls all full of amphetamine salts and dreams of grandeur: What do it
mean when
I want to crawl out this skin and become another forgotten name on the listserv? What do
it mean
when I feel myself a tab popped on the Pepsi can acid tongue?! A tranny desperate to get
the fuck away
from everyone and everything and just be alone. Like who the fuck cares if u ain’t payin’
coin
for a slice of PnPecanpie? The only pussy open on all federal holidays, tipped bodies
on
powder dip nails on Gucci postnasal petrol cocaine snorts rolling dice for another oil war
another porno
VHS virus another anonymous whistle blower another transsexual in the laundromat
bleaching
out the mucus stains in her panties counting quarters and texting trade to pick up a four
piece & a side of fries: HONEYMUSTARD PLZ BAE!
The emperor tries to make another failed Ukrainian casino deal, Democrats bless the
CIA with more discretionary funds,
the entire administration a house of McDonald’s nuggets, ketchup dribbled, and gold piss
dripped.
A flock of transsexuals sunbathing by an iridescent saltwater pool acrylic coffins peel the
tattered scraps of skin
off estrogen engorged nipples, pinch the smoking roach, and let the ganjacum drip off lip
and tit.
Our new euro transsexual songstress ascends upon the streamcast throne with the help of
an old rapist.
How bizarre to simultaneously desire the mollywashed sounds of Kim Petras while
geeking
for vintage Ke$ha drag, while drowning in pools of gin & tonics, while sucking cocks in
boutique hotel rooms.
Kim says there will be blood will be snipers will be batons will be encrypted police state
emails
psychotic pussies pushing zombie trannies in milky cornea the lips stained in scat silk
rope wrapped wrists
silicone implants saline inflated ballsacks throbbing hentai shemale necromantic cocks
Studio 54
cocaine numb gums the sour stardust on her lips from ice demons masturbating on her
face
the MDMA codex of a new transsexual drugpop princess still requires a manipulation of
the mind.
III
disco sisters sell pussy in tubs and tollroad booths tell you tea for another gender soft cunt like the bellies of snow crabs nesting off the rotten shore sick of all the drug lips sick of all the bleach stains shemales at the bar nesting for men with fat cocks and fat necks and fatter lies to be told pull up and deepthroat ‘em with holy sucking prayers like muva used to know this pussy you been searching ‘cross the stillness of mass genocides for was meant for you kiss your man one last time and believe it was all worth it bend the silk print fibers of your mortal coil and know you were here once before and if he never holds you again just blow dem shofar horns and smoke the gods out on sticky white widow owl blunts you will mourn you will wail you will sing and you will disco but you won’t be joining your sisters anytime soon your disco heat has another song to sing another summer to swell another ghost to recognize and while you’re alive you will honor them all and suck on life ‘til sun rise.
VI
Eulogy For Hundreds Dead: aretha franklin odetta little richard donny hathaway chi-lites sylvester labelle janet jackson the pointer sisters amy winehouse janis joplin cece peniston whitney houston abba gwen guthrie grace jones koko taylor madonna frank ocean cheryl lynn harold melvin & the blue notes gloria gaynor lorretta lynn reba mcentire nina simone radiohead prince buffy sainte-marie otis redding rihanna anhoni patsy cline lavender country dolly parton valerie june
VII
Eulogy For Thousands Dead: bunker, mo des moines harlem detroit minneapolis berlin wounded knee sunset boulevard east oakland east st. louis east martin luther king blvd east gustine east genesta street east curtain draping the shadow on john brown’s body west florrisant west ladue west blackjack west wing west memphis west dealey plaza west interzone trump tower tehran jasper, ark mar a lago world trade center building 7 riyadh abu ghraib the pentagon cia black site prisons club saint louis chicago’s hollywood beach the castro the niangua river a holler in paradise
VIII
EULOGY FOR HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS DEAD!!!
i o n c e b e l o n g e d t o a m a n ’ s b e d o f g l o r i o u s c u m d e a t h , h e l d h i s c o c k i n s i d e m y n e c r o t i c c u n t,
s w a l l o w e d e v e r y d r o p o f h i s h o t m i l k d e a t h , w o r s h i p p e d a t h i s t s p o r n o o r g i e s & h i s d i l d o a l t e r s o f d e a t h ,
m a d e m e h i s s w e e t s h e m a l e c o n c u b i n e o f d e a t h ! p l e a s u r e d i n h i s s k u l l a w e o f m y h o l y b o d y o f f e m m e d e a t h !
m a d e l o v e i n t h e g a s p i n g e m b e r s o f s u n l i g h t ! a t e e a c h o t h e r ’ s s m o o t h a s s h o l e s i n
b l u e m o r n i n g s o f d e a t h ! d e l i g h t e d i n t h i s p e r v e r s e n a t i o n o f d e a t h ! h e l d e a c h o t h e r i n t h e
M A G A b o s o m o f d e a t h ! s a t w r e c k e d a n d c r a c k e d o p e n a n d w a i l i n g o n t h e s t e p s o f o u r
l o v e ’ s f i n a l a c t o f d e a t h !