Tim Barrus Blog
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the timekeeper
you and your adolescent wandering/ all the dark places and that lurid glare/ your river stories/ the villages are always deserted/ your age was that summer a jury/ morning snowstorms and we just went back to bed/ the virile ivory in the temples of taboo perceives the shipwreck and the…
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post-card nomadic
first-one features the camera will come on again dragging out revenge to some stupefied consensus i used to take you to all the shoots pizza for breakfast you were hungover from the night before you called me a post-card nomadic i have been called worse limited access studio shoots are…
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You Still Have Your Neck Pillow On
the lonely demon flicker of your smile whiskey boy mountain corn field sweat clings to you sawdust bedded good morning little bitch your life coiled back into the past when you were hungry and always the young grass bent and the spring grew ripe https://medium.com/@timotheebarrus/i-opened-my-eyes-80939561c66a -
Name Me One Person
name me one person who could catch up to him allowing the thin rays of autumn’s sun, he can completely vanish and has slept late escorted into a dark pilgrimage of four years times ten and all the tin cups to it, appalachia boy rags and patches bony shoulders socks…
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Violence Against Sex Workers
Kirk is quite typical for a seventeen-year-old except for one thing. He does sex work to survive. One in five police reports of sexual assault from an urban, U.S. emergency room were filed by sex workers. Sex workers were younger, poorer and suffered a greater number of injuries than other…
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Vous l’avez fait
J’accuse Vous l’avez fait Tu m’as tué Avec ton amour Avec ta bite Avec votre Langue Dans mon Trou Vous avez rempli Moi avec Ton sperme Que je Merde Dans votre Bouche Vous l’avez fait -
woodstock
some dark wood of terror/ my tongue inside your bitter hole ravenous and wasted beyond perilous attrition/ no one had been left alive/ we could roar the bike past all the parked cars lined up at the side of the road with their little radios and their little dancing on…
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forty years of inflammation
avascular necrosis was just the beginning/ i am now a walking, talking spare parts car lot/ vavavoom/ i could barely walk this week, and ended up in another emergency room again and again/ besides the usual, this time, there was the heart/ they will stick probes into my heart and…
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It’s just business
every sunday morning here in appalachiaville they take a head count to see who’s in church and who’s not in fucking church religion in america and what is so intricate so entangling as death you numberless infinities your mouths are filled with dust the absurd in the depth of winter… -
Nothing’s Wrong on Mars