Tim Barrus Blog
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The Self-Sexualized Male Animal
Here’s what I know. I know this is not you. This is not even any of your second selves.
I go along with the charade a lot. Especially when it’s all around me 24/7, and I am only one person. But I am not Audrey Hepburn, and I sure as…
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the tyranny of convention
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the marketplace is
the tyranny of
convention
many many many
of the artists
i know and i
know them in
their guts
a few
in their bowels
are creating
the same fucking
images they
created years
ago
or the same
fucking poetry
they created
years ago
because feeding
the voraciousness…
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Rape Pit
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Rape Pit
i did not say
rape kit
i said
r-a-p-e
p-i-t
a deep
dive into
hatred
usually buried
U cheap fuck
languages and
meter’s drumbeat
U have
gotten away
a deep dive
w/ it before
w/ discernible
impunity
a pattern of
its own
deep dive
but we will
find…
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Poetry: Bondage of the Foster Parent
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U R different yet in many ways
u 2R the same having been there
U know what U know in decrepitude
that this rope both binds U&him
&ties U up together his echo
cold eyes of death in the
land of savages is always
rendered moonlight&
the wind he only…
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Identity: Are We What We Do
Is the whore hitchhiking to go somewhere or is there an assumption a whore is a whore is a whore. Is there anyone who doesn’t think this boy with his thumb out is not a whore.
Or does my merely suggesting it color what you think you see.
There but…
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Appalachian Savages and the Stigma
Stigma has its thick-skinned tongue licking out their fastidious shit holes it is a crisis it is a nonchalant devoutness it is inflamed, of consequence, provoked, quivering. Just stick me, God.
I am usually far more interested in their reactions to stigma than I am in stigma itself. Run, as…
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GoPro Sky
the driftwood
bones bearing down
the night will
drift
and the remorseless
sand will engulf
the emperor
who has arrived
in this desert
to breed and die
the ancient
tongues, languages
our thieves
and errand boys
with their
long heavy dreams
sweat and sink away
into thunders
like arteries and…
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2B Held
I loathe being touched. By anyone.
I hate it when they hug me. I freeze.
It is a deep flaw within me. I have been battered around enough to see intimacy as a real threat. I have tried to shake it. It will not be undone.
They turn toward one…
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But For This
but for this, when you find out life iswhat it is whatever it is no one reallyknows what the fuck it is you stumbleon the reality that but for this it’s alion’s cage, a bitter city of poets onthe gallows and fingernails you arealways biting your fingernails thechildren are hiding…
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After the Rape is a Slow, Lonely Death, and a Grim-Visaged Dirge
It took him a long time to understand what had happened to him. Slow. Slow. It was as if he couldn’t blink. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t do anything. Slow. Slow. Ninety percent of the boys in the developed world who have been raped multiple times will…