Tim Barrus Blog
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Your Bride’s White Dress
white people do not think about hunger because they are rarely hungry and there you on the corner and the twisting it’s always worse in the rain and then you ache with sucking old white cock my summary of what is wrong with this picture the lips and teeth of… -
New York Times: On Queer Childhood
I mentor boys at-risk for HIV. Many of them do sex work. They don’t carry the baggage of typical adolescents. Their baggage is a lot more breath-taking. People see delinquency, the juvenile justice system, and detention. None of which work. That people do not understand homelessness, hunger, and hate, is… -
To Burn the Sky
dusk was difficult to burn the sky we thieves together, and the lovers and the friends they all too often cum slowly such moments like distant moons and stuff and lawns can fade in suicide’s revenge so complicit with the living and their first violent year of holding you naked… -
Tim Barrus in the New York Times
Our time is over. My time is over. I am on my phone. On my back. Looking at the morning stars and the sunrise dust of light just now warming my world. My mountain Blue Ridge trees have turned bright red and yellow. Those leaves will fall. Autumn has arrived.…
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if they call me a girl
if they call me a girl one more time, i am going to start beating them up and you can’t stop me he said (this is where i have to decide to be appropriate or inappropriate who am i kidding i have never been appropriate) okay i said https://timbarrus.tumblr.com
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his mouth is mute
his mouth is mute the fencing between us like the land of famished dust on the cellar stairs all winter long morning in the woods disguised in hoods the longitude of knowing how fractured grief is buried in the voiceless ground https://timbarrus.tumblr.com
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you split
the proper perspective through silence and then to be pulled away naked by the guards in fields you split into the wet wounds a death of fences https://timbarrus.tumblr.com/
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if night should come
if night should come to find us in fields the harvest will die in shallows face to face in the quiet dawns turning us away from sleep/ https://timbarrus.tumblr.com
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steps worn in autumn’s light
steps laid out flat by leaves of oaks and too many children up and down commissioned with troubles from beyond the horrors of their families who says families are sacred families must be watched by watchmen ready to snatch the damaged from the damaged if i am carried by rags…
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Whose Grip Undid the Screws
i fuck around a lot with the idea of identity, it’s like pissing on a sacred cow while the village sleeps and dreams of simple things/ grey as pain, the rules upon which reality itself is guarded by the armies of the roots whose consummate butchery has wrenched the doors…