Joss Barton

ISSUE 4.1

JOSS BARTON
SON KIT
ALLISON PARRISH
JEANNE THORNTON

ISSUE 4.2

JO GOSH
ELI TAREQ EL BECHELANY-LYNCH
SAGE RAVENWOOD
HANNAH RUBIN
Photography & Floral Design by Matthew Blind.
Untitled Fungi Painting by Louise Tucker.
  • THREE SHROOMS ON PAINTED WOOD

    HOME 

    WAS WARM BRAIN FLESH LIKE MEMAW’S STRAWBERRY JELLY LIKE GOOD OL’ BOYS CHEWIN’ SKOAL GROWLING AT SISSIES THAT THEY DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS BUT THEY KNOW WHAT IT 

    AIN’T

    HOME

    WAS THE SMELL OF PINES WHIPPING ACROSS CREEK SOAKED SKIN AS SHE RAISED HER HANDS IN THE BACK BED OF THE BLACK BEAT UP PICKUP TRUCK BARRELING DOWN A HWY PAST RUSTED JUNKYARDS AND CONFEDERATE TRAILERS AND SIGN POSTS POINTIN’ TOWARD TAUM SAUK AS THE BLEACH BITTEN TOWEL BECAME A WIND SWEPT GOWN WAVING TO WHITE CROSSES AND BAREFOOT KIDS ON LEAD PAINT PEALED PORCHES PITCHIN’

    ROCKS

    HOME

    WAS A DIRT ROAD TO NOWHERE AND DITCH BEDS AND INFINITE BACKWOODS AND SHIT PIE COPROPHILOUS COUSINS WOULD FIND OUT IN THE COW PASTURE ON RAINY AFTERNOONS AND DIG UP WITH STICKS DARING EACH OTHER TO EAT ONE UF’EM 

    HOME

    WAS GRANDMA WARNIN’ US ‘BOUT HUNTING FOR MUSHROOMS UNDER ROTTEN LOGS AND WET LEAVES SHE WOULD TELL US TO ALWAYS LOOK FOR THEM WHITE GILLS THEM THOSE POISON WIDOW CAPS AND NEVER TOUCH THOSE WITCHES RED TOADSTOOLS THOSE OPEN THE DEVIL’S DOOR SHE’D SAY MAKE YOU GO PLUM OUT YOUR 

    MIND

    HER 

    WAY OF WARNING HER BABIES OF THE PSYCHOTROPIC REALM A COSMIC WILDERNESS SIS FREQUENTLY TRAVELS THRU HITCHIN’ RIDES ON THE BACKS OF RUBY THROATED HUMMINGBIRD IMPRINTED ACID STRIPS OR WRITHING ON POPPER CLOUDS WITH CLENCHED MOLLY JAW AND SWOLLEN CUMDUMP LIPS OR CHEWING THE BLUE VEIN STEMS AND BLACK BELLIES OF PSILOCYBIN CAPS THE HOLY TASTE OF MANURE AND DESICCATED WOOD AND DEATH BITTERS CONSTRICTING THE THROAT IN AUTOEROTIC EGO-ASPHYXIATION AS THE WALLS BEGIN TO BREATHE AND THE SOUL MELTS INTO SPORES OF TRANSSEXUAL GERMINATION THREADING SPOOLS OF METALLIC SPIRO-THIN SEMEN SOAKING THRU WONDER BREAD BEDSHEETS THE SMELL OF MOLD AND METH CLINGING TO THE PINK REPTILE PRINT SCARVES DRAPED ACROSS SOFT WHITE LAMPSHADES AND THE CHEMICAL COCKTAIL OF SPEED AND SHROOMS HOT RAILING THE FEMME MIND’S EYE INTO DARK CRYSTAL DIMENSIONS REFLECTING GRAINY KODAK FILM BACK INTO HER BROWN IRIS IMAGES RAPIDLY BLOOMING INTO FIELDS OF WET FUNGAL FLESH MATTRESSES OF BULBOUS WHITE PUFF BALLS BRIGHT TANGERINE CHICKEN OF THE WOODS MORPHING INTO FAT SCRATCHING CLUCKERS THE KIND GRANDMA WOULDA CALLED SUNDAY FRYERS FORESTS OF SUNSET BLUSHED CORAL FUNGI SCATTERED IN PINK AND PURPLE STALAGMITE FORMATIONS ACROSS THE HOLLER FLOOR A KIND OF HYPHAE HEAVEN THAT LOUISE WOULD HAVE TRIED TO CAPTURE IN ONE 

    OF 

    HER 

    PAINTINGS HER POETRY IN OILS AND LATEX HER VISIONS THE PEACEFUL VALLEY OF THE NATURAL WORLD LADYBUGS CRAWLIN’ UP LEAVES OF GRASS SHELTERED BENEATH THE SHADE OF PRIMARY FUNGAL COLORS HER SISSY GRANDCHILD CATCHES FRAGMENTS OF HER GOSPEL SOUL WHILE SUCKIN ON THE MELTING KALEIDOSCOPE LIGHTS TRACING THE BOUNDARIES OF A LONELY WORLD HOLY IN ITS WILDNESS HOLY IN ITS EMBRACE OF DEATH HOLY IN ITS UNKNOWABLE GOD BROWN STAINED BLOCKS ON HOOKS SHE PAINTED AND FRAMED HER FOLK ART THESE AMERICAN SPORES BLEEDING SONNETS ON 

    HOME

    HER 

    HOME

    NOW A SHELL WRAPPED IN THORNS AND GILL WINGS OF DESTROYING ANGELS GLASS VENOM THE FAGGOT CHILD WAS DOOMED TO CARRY INSIDE HER ROTTEN TEETH THE SHAME MATERIALIZED INTO IRON CAP FILLINGS AND VERSES FROM LEVITICUS A MANIC KIND OF RAPTURE SHE COULD ONLY FEEL IN THE FULL LAUGHTER OF HER BIG LIPPED BROWN BODY AN INDULGENCE SHE WOULD HOLD ON TO BRINGING HER CLOSER TO THAT PERFECT STATE OF TRANSGENDER

    NATURE

    SPORES

    USED TO BE THOSE TENT REVIVAL PREACHERS AND THEIR BLOOD FLUSHED CHEEKS STAINED WITH SINNER SALT TEARS 

    SPORES

    USED TO BE THOSE WHITE WOMEN FAWNING OVER HER SPIRAL CURLED HAIR SHINY AND SMOOTH AND BLACK AND NEVER DYED AND NEVER  

    BRITTLE 

    SPORES

    USED TO BE THOSE WHITE BOYS AND THEIR PALE NECKS AND CHEEKS PINK AND ROSY LIKE THEIR COCKS PINK AND ROSY LIKE THEIR HANDS PINK AND ROSY GRIPPING BASKETBALLS AND RIFLES AND BEER CAN HOLES FOR 

    TOBACCO

    SPIT

    SPORES 

    USED TO BE THOSE WHITE MEN AND THEIR TRANNY ADDICTED HOT MUSHROOM HEAD DICKS THEIR CLEAN AS A WHISTLE TRANNY HUNGRY HOLES THEIR FRAMED FAMILY PORTRAITS STATIC MARBLED SMILES AND AN UNSPOKEN

    KNOWING

    SPORES

    OF THE HEART FLAMING LIKE HOMOSEXUAL CHARIOTS BURNING HOLY FAGGOTRY AND TRANNY TESTAMENTS CRIMSON SILHOUETTES OF COCAINE GEEKED PUSSY SILICONE LUBED ACRYLIC NAILS CRAWLING ALONG TIT AND LIP STROKING TO THE VEIN PATTERNS OF YOUNG HUNG JOCKS SMACKING THEIR 

    SPIT

    LINED MOUTHS DOWN ANOTHER ANONYMOUS SISSY STALK THROBBING WITH 

    SUGAR SWEET 

    CROPS

    SHE

    IMAGINES HERSELF LEAD HEADLINE INKED ACROSS THE TIMES OF THE WORLD PHOTOGRAPHS OF HER SNATCHED WAISTLINE WRAPPED IN BLACK MOLD CORSET AND THIGH HIGH STOCKINGS HER NECKLINE ADORNED IN GOLDEN TEACHERS A CHUNKY PRECIOUS CHOKER OF DIRT WASHED YELLOW AND GOLD UFO SAUCERS AND HER SLIME DRIPPED LEGS DRIPPING WET WITH A CRINOLINE OF COPPER SLICKED WOOD 

    EARS

    SHE

    LISTENS TO THE CALL OF THE AMERICAN TURTLE DOVE OR AS OLD TIMERS CALL HIM THE MOURNING DOVE A BIG DICKED SELF SUCKIN’ FEATHERED FAGGOT HE TELLS HER ‘BOUT THE BEATINGS DADDY GAVE HIM AND THE FEARS HE FEASTED ON IN STAINED GLASS BIRD-FEEDERS HE WRAPS HIS LEGS ‘ROUND HIS SISSY SCRUFF REDNECK AS HE PECKS AND LICKS HIS STIFF COCK THROBBIN’ WITH CRACK SMOKE AND PENTECOST HIS PUCKERED HOLE A RING OF SMOOTH PINK GILLS GASPING FOR FAME AND DECOMPOSING

    FAUNA   

    HIS

    COOS CONJURE A GLIMMERING WALL OF SEQUINED LICHEN MEMORIES A BIOLUMINESCENT DISCO OF GLOWING GRIEF TRAUMAS AND TALL TALES TALL BOYS OF PALE LAGERS AND NIGHTMARES OF PALE HORSES LONESOME LOVERS SPINNING INTO GLORIOUS HALLUCINOGENIC HELLS WHERE THE PAIN IS PICKED FROM THE ROTTEN ROOTS LIKE MORELS IN MARCH TEAR SOAKED AND TREMBLING SHE SLICES OFF THE BITS OF BRUISED AND SOGGY SPONGE THAT REMIND HER OF THE SILENCE SHE WAS FED AS VIRTUE AND DELIVERANCE CUTTING THRU THE FUNGAL BODIES OF FACISM AND SELF-DESTRUCTION SHE FINDS HERSELF FREE OF THOSE FALSE GODS FREE OF THOSE NEON CAGES FREE OF THOSE FRONTIER FANTASIES FREE OF THOSE FAGGOT FEARS BUT NEVER FREE FROM THOSE SPORES WE CALLED HOME MAYBE THESE MEMORIES ARE BUT TWANGS ECHOING OFF BLUEGRASS TWILIGHT A BUTTON CAP SPOTLIGHT OF QUIET LOVE LONGING TO BE HELD A CEREMONIAL FIELD OF BURNING TULIPS AND PAGAN FUNGI DANCING IN EMBROIDERED CIRCLES ‘ROUND THE 

    BARN

    HER

    HEART AS SIMPLE AND FULL AS THREE SHROOMS ON PAINTED WOOD


Joss Barton is a writer, journalist, and spoken word performance artist exploring and documenting queer and trans* life, love, and liberation. Her work blends femme-fever dreams over the soundtrack of the American nightmare. Combining prose poetry, non-fiction confessional essays, drag artistry, and spoken word stage performances, Joss examines the myriad states of queer trans womanhoods from historical, political, and pop cultural identities of death, desires, dreams, and disco.