Tim Barrus: BangeeSting like a Dirty Girl.

ThenTheyRippedItUpAndThey, HadGuns. What neighborhood do you think you are in the homeless sleep in here but so many of them know art, but even after screening, so many of them were the homeless in a tent with small dead animals in your mouth aren’t we allowed to say the whole…

Tim Barrus: Family Dollar

Tim Barrus: NYT

It never just goes boom. It. Drips. Away. – Tim Barrus

Tim Barrus: Censorship, New York Times

IT’S EASIER TO JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP. BUT WHEN YOU’RE ASKING THE WRONG QUESTIONS, SUDDENLY, YOU ARE THE FOCUS OF THEIR PROBLEMS. THE NEW YORK TIMES HAS SILENCED ME. I HAVE TO GO DO SOME MESCALINE. AND GET THE SMELL OFF.

Tim Barrus: Even their wives hate them. It’s hard and it’s dangerous to have cops as sources. Watch your back.

Tim Barrus: Color Seperations

Tim Barrus: Now, That Our Mouths and Throats Are Filled With the Dust From Bones Thousands of Years of Bones.

Comments are like hearing a shotgun somewhere in the woods of It All Happened Before I Got Here. Sound itself. Always a Threat As Sure as Death. What torment is cunning. What love, you old fool, is the body or the book. That subtle knot which hangs us by their…

Tim Barrus: Rember That Guy On Park Benches That Was Me On 59th. Why Are We Here. It Is My Job 2Ask It.

I am a communist. Masks are nothing new to me. When we were doing this stuff together around collage age shut up what were they doing now. Le women. I have been here before. No one knows who is an Officer of the Deluge and fucking shit hoped one was…

Tim Barrus: Finished With Some Pills

Tim Barrus: Harm That The Wise Powers Deny

I drove into town today. The streets are ghosts of mist. Lonely chimeras. Kingdoms. Provinces. It was slippery but my nobby tread worked wonders. I can’t wear the medical mask when I am on the road. I’ve done it for over two years. But today was cold rain so the…

Tim Barrus: America Is A Scarecrow Whose Eyes Have Been Pecked By Birds

The carnival whirligigs of time bring their wormholes and their black holes and their hole holes to Melancholy Revenges Weary Of Being Consistently Undone.

Tim Barrus: Highway Robbery

It seemed we all had Second Selves. https://www.nytimes.com/2021/12/17/opinion/great-books-socrates.html?campaign_id=0&emc=edit_cr_20211218&instance_id=0&nl=comments-notifications&regi_id=56243886&segment_id=0&user_id=acf7e0fa0ccfaa274c5a8c73c0976c4a#commentsContainer&permid=115978159:115978159 I am a communist. Ego or go home. You knew there would be a book. About it. There’s a book about everything, right. Wrong. What can possibly be Socratic about Love In the Afternoon. What do you mean, Love In the Afternoon.…

Tim Barrus: Watching From the Shadows

EVERY PARTICLE EVER CREATED HAS AN ANTIMATTER TWIN EVERY LAST ONE AND CAMBRIDGE

Tim Barrus: CrackerJack

Internal Dialogues. Voices. Desire. Curiosity. You were wearing an ankle bracelet and all your second selves approved. You tell me you can control the voices. I may have to eat your brain. Where Is It Written That I Am Obligated To Tell You What Is Real. What has passed the…

Tim Barrus: It Does Not Matter 2 Me Who Brings It

Not many people are on the road. The pandemic has had the result of cleaning much of the air. That will change. I can see into the wilderness. This will be a record of stop to stop. City to city. Protest to protest. Riot to riot. Fuck to fuck. Demonstration…

Tim Barrus: A River Dries To Rock and Dust

The river is low. No one has ever seen it this low. Forest Fire Alerts are Up And Running. In December. We had rain last night. But the river fails to cover the rocks. It is hanging on. We are all hanging on. It’s not up to us. We didn’t…

We are renting our existence, and the question – why are you here – has nothing to do with landlords, & everything to do with death.

We are renting our existence, and the question – why are you here – has nothing to do with landlords, and everything to do with all the voices of survival. I am here to be here. Among the rats. Among the criminals. Among the junk of abandonment and cars, they’re…

Tim Barrus: Poetry Is As Old As Rocks So Bend Your Landscape 2 My Will

Tim Barrus: You Numberless Infinities

How now, you secret, bones and shadows, do you explain such explicit nerves as having never trembled.

Tim Barrus: What People Want To Believe Is Not My Fucking Problem. You Never Listen. You Just Go Off And Do Your Own Stuff.

No one writes about outrage. Not from the Inside Out. Outrage that is giving birth, and there it was. Everyone staring. Writers are timid and fearful. They want to win awards, have big sales, offend no one. I offend everyone. That is just how it is.

Tim Barrus: Done Like Lightning

One thing. From death. A numberless infinity of land and death and food and water and light and all time tread upon a woods so distinctly wrought, you have the men, you just don’t have the right men.  

Tim Barrus: I Learned 2 Partaay

You. Are. Crumbled out again.  

Tim Barrus: I Didn’t Mean You

TIM BARRUS: THIS WAS US BUT IT WAS NOT US YEAH IT WAS REALLY US AND RUN WE WERE KINDA LIKE THE CRIMINALS WE MADE FUN OF BUT WE DID HAVE A SMALL FOLLOWING OF NEITHER FONES OR FONES. SUE ME. I FUCKING DIDN’T MEAN YOU I DIDN’T MEAN YOU.…

Tim Barrus: Now We Can Get Some Of These Streets Cleaned of Riff Raff

I am a communist. I live in the Blue Ridge of Appalachia. I am not liked here much. I write about the South a lot. It feels like holding a vial of Confederate blood and dropping it. Blood is at the bottom of everything in the South. It’s gender. It’s…