Tim Barrus Blog
Posts tagged with Poetry
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The Phantom Drooping Trees
I doubt that we will see the likes of this again for at least a few lifetimes. Generations of a thin exhaustion. I remember the river. I remember the smell of the river not unlike a slow light upon the ground held in check by rain. I remember watching kids…
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Spills Into Cups
their dancing spills into cups incognito but i know who the fuck you are/ your bones spread out like demons deep into the devil night/ and there it is, falls down, the challenge is to not allow the world to make you disappear, it will anyway, we are just the…
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dark by whose law was unforgiving
i washed your dustboy’s back and your holding up the decapitated dead for everyone to see and we do not care to see it/ your cock caught in a silence of an abandoned emptiness, throwing stones at waves like the Other One of us was not really there/ everyone you…
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Our Travel Plans Got Dark
your dreams lurked about the woods risking barbed wire fences that tore our shirts and once my right tit/ i still have that scar/ i do not know why i thought of it as your tree but i did/ mainly because you put a claim on it in much the…
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Take-Out Only
the families on my street have started burning wood again we all knew that someday it would all come tumbling down all around us and then it did/ like this arthritis in my hands will grind you down to bone and dust/ waiting to eat the stones waiting to eat…
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their music is a silence
today, their music is a silence which means they’re usually pissed off at something I did or said what the fuck it’s always something/ as yet a distance between who else themselves/ they are in love/ with one another/ what do they know of loneliness and my wonder at the…
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For Kirk
i let you make your own films with your blondness spilling out like cum/ my cups completely full/ you and your life from underneath by moonlight sweeps and turns in whispers/ the fragile bed sullen in the tangle of your clothes upon the floor, sleep is an isolated body like…
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they make me give these things titles
everyone on our street stays up late because I have no idea why but the light has vague bits of dreams to it/ the stuff of moons and dust and the disappearing of all the things we have left behind/ https://timbarrus.tumblr.com
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what subservience demands
asylum/ we seek asylum/ this strange life keeps peeling from our sin/ our fall from grace, our searching for asylum as an act of war/ the sea and suffering/ our only poetry speaks of resistance to whatever subservience demands/ https://timbarrus.tumblr.com
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your mouth of rain
we were the dead/ and we would be them, too/ our tongues had been silenced by our shame/ i would trace your face of pain with my finger sweeping down the rest of you like wet leaves i slide it in you knew you knew you knew i would with…
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Against the Bitter Season
you stand alone juxtaposed against infinity as you titty suck the married men off splitting you torn apart in parking lots back seats old dirt roads the clawing ditches corners shadows dust and salt and motels drained and dry as rats for food and staring at the wall/ but you…
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Tim Barrus: Tied Tight In Your Skin
we cum here with our work/ we call it the hot seat because that is where the poets among us, which means everyone, arrive to sit and read their work/ and it is work, often, it is a lot of work, we see poets in the context of a naked…
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Billy Joe’s Bridge
this is the bridge billie joe maccallister jumped from/ it is entirely legal to smoke dope under this sacred bridge/ or so people i know claim/ they could be wrong/ they are wrong a lot/ they are not lawyers/ beware of following their legal advice/ do i appear to be…
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DRIVING THE TIME MACHINE
look, it’s a truck, the only time i am allowed in their private world – or for that matter any adult is allowed in their private world – is when i am driving the time machine/ their beds were dragged up to the roof where they sleep in a time…
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The Crows of Candybar Town
the crows from around here are all from candybar town/ they never sweep the floor or make their beds on the front porch/ the crows sing songs from the seychelles in french/ their lives on the ground in crumbs runs outward, sideways, then up to the tops of trees/ they…
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From Day One
from day one he has flown his flag/ it is usually a flag resembling surrender which is never surrender it is more like another declaration of war/ with his orders of this blood-soaked field, the skeletons have never needed god or jerusalem or everything to become clear in a great…
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kitchenette
brittle things with blood your kitchenette your travels involving multiple parties https://timbarrus.tumblr.com
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The Family Ate the Family Dog
the family ate the family dog appalachia is unconditional surrender replacement parts and arguments poverty and the truck shop passing through the bedroom window swallowed by the cardboard that has replaced what glass is left school bus in the morning frost of growling smoke pickled meats and vomit, dark corridors,…
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THESE APPALACHIAN HILLS
ginger is never here/ he tends bar in asheville, and he’s a drug dealer/ like i give a shit/ people make their own decisions/ consequences come and go/ he’s a great fuck, and we spent two weeks here a long time ago/ appalachia is about many things/ a long time…
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A Safe Place to Learn Almost Seems Like MoreThan We Know How To Do
rock it like a candle and the blowing out from screams covered as most screams are by dust Rock it like a candle and the blowing out the earth in seconds and you can watch them all naked as a cat knows sleep rock it like a candle and the…
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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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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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I Was Focused on Autumn’s Cumming
i was focused on autumn’s cumming when that time of death and frost ejaculated in my mouth autumn itself was arrogant with the bitter days riding ponies through the shadows of woods fallen away and split with slashes of red freezing on my many hungry tongues and traveling road trips…
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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