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tim barrus: your wolves


people will think this is about the storm/ the hail took out one of my headlights/ but this is not about that/ i took this video footage when you were inside the tattoo studio getting your wolves in your skin and it occurs to me/ standing here across the street at the motel, that i might be one of them/ we could have gone to any tattoo shop anywhere in the world, but there would only be one, for you/ one tattoo artist who could give you what you wanted/ and he would not let me, your necromancer, anywhere inside his tattoo palace/ where he was painting all the dead, lost souls that stood between you and me, dark sorcery, summoning apparitions/ muttering my babylonian spells/ the blood of wolves to drink the grotesque with merely mundane, gods of the underworld are nothing/ you should see the hailstorms of chaldea i love to make/ calling forth sheol/ in leaps and bounds/ the shaman king/ drinking coffee out here with his camera/ swallowed by the shadows of the lezard valeth, severed limbs, disease, and the supernatural wizards of motels/

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