Tim Barrus Blog
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Ports In Storms
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Fresh off the truck,
I did not want to know how Dane stole the Harley-Davidson Low Rider. Since HIV, Dane has had one killer disease after another. He has an infusion port built into his forearm. An implanted venous access port is a device used to give treatments and take…
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WhoWillLoveYou
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WeCanOnlyAffordAMotelRoomfor1.
SneakingIn.
AFewExtrasNoLoudMusicNoJumpingOnBeds.
IAskU:AtTheEndOfAllYourMomentsAtTheEndOfAllYourSorrowsAtTheEndOfAllYourLives.
WhoWillLoveYou. WhoWillFight.
WhoWillLoveYou. YouSayNoOneLovesYou.
ThenWhatTheFuckAmI.
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Juvenile Justice Data
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Juvenile Justice Data predicts one fourth of these young men will be dead in two years from suicide. One half will be re-incarcerated as adults. Ten will be sexually assaulted. Twelve will be addicted. Five will be all of this.
What is wrong with us.
https://timbarrus.tumblr.com/
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Ordinary Matter
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the human animal is made of ordinary matter/ the elements the animal is made from have a gravitas and interact with light/ when you left, i could not walk through any of our rooms without being hit in the face with the subsequent warmness that you were still there/ all…
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water
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Storytelling
https://timbarrus.tumblr.com/
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Tim Barrus Poetry
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his solitude was
the soft breathing
of a morgue
everyone in
morgues breathes
like that
our road trips
together had
us following
the grateful
dead whose
heroin bones
had that damp
smell of honeysuckle
just outside the
farmhouse door
https://timbarrus.tumblr.com/
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Most Galaxies
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most galaxies will hang out near bigger galaxies/ in orbit not unlike satellites/ large galaxies routinely collide with smaller galaxies in a violence warped beyond all recognition where newly induced bursts of star-forming regions escape the idea of time itself, and then there’s humanity, watching like a nest of hawks,…
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Tim Barrus Poetry
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but what is poetry/
i have a small plot of land back in the big woods where i grow things/ secret things, things humming a little bit, sometimes in a thin minor key, humming impatiently in whispers that i have returned i have returned/ to sit here and write things,…
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Wooden Porch Swing in the Distance
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behind the house, and just beyond the little woods of oaks, there’s an ancient cemetery where the confederate dead are buried in their sackcloths/ six of us are buried in here, too/ civil war is just another vulture’s boots/ the cemetery itself is dead/ not unlike a darkened theatre, and…