I Think I Was On That Team

Tim Barrus: Give Me The Daggers The Witchcraft Of Boys Seems Dead And Whose Dreams A Demon’s Face The Moon Is In Repose

Desire is another sleep’s oblivion.

Tim Barrus: The Rich Old White Men Are Slithering Toward What They Love Most. War.

The dirt is one thing. A tarantula another. A cosmic slipping up the mud for miles. Your wings against the storms. In abundance shrinks from the tangles Homo sapiens have made. The dirt and her roses hungry in a moonlight of swimming in the lake alone. The sand biting at…

Tim Barrus: To allow a word to freeze upon the tongue of time. Speaks dead languages. Of marriages and mine.

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: EACH PREDATOR WAS NEUROFEEDBACK’S NEXT BILLION YEARS

look homeward, demon/ only the bad kids went swimming at the gravel pits our tits were dark/ with the memories of the men/ who used to beat us and beat us and beat us/ we did fight back/ you could lose a tooth or an eye if you did/ the…

Tim Barrus: No One Can Fix Your Son

So. You. Swallowed. Hard. It had come to this. It had come to this.

The Watchmen Dreams of Entire Horizons

Sleep. Lullabye. We all have reasons. I imagine he will leave me in the leaves. Especially when he figures out his own ten wishes. He will make the first wish in a little while. In a little while.

Tim Barrus: My Rooms Above The Dodge

My rooms were above the Dodge. In Dodge. In a dry and dreamtime land of whiteboys and trucks and those boys really do believe the earth was made just for them. What white boys know of life sits alone itself in Chinatown, strange. Just outside of town, a huge pit…

witchery

THE CARNIVAL WAS ALMOST DONE

I am a communist. It begins with Colder Nights’ September Creeping across the screen not unlike the way the ground got confused when you had had a few, who was that with the camera it was always a camera somehere because it was a camera. Old men stand incredulous, this…

THE DAY WAS STRANGE

We did fish. Now and then. But it was about us. There was no us. It would never be allowed. The boat smelled hot with oak.

Gutted In Beds of Ice

the aproned butchers/ swung their clevers down/ on fresh cold joints/ slapping the thick chops/ and tossing them roughly/ tied/ to the boot delivery boys/ smelling of earth and morning/ wide bellied buttfuck/ clotted damply of black loam/ wrenched from gardens the smell/ of gardens a thunder on the rails/…

We Collapse

Riding a bike all day such as a Triumph is far more rigorous than people who are inherently afraid of motorcycles anyway can possibly know. It’s work. Bikes demand the best of you. The physical you. The spiritual you. The exhausted you. Anyone who has taken a long road trip…

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…

because you are compelled to or he will disappear/

Tim Barrus Photography https://timbarrus.tumblr.com

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…

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…

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…

Fish Gut

there is no forgiveness in beds of rusted stone/ your flesh and bone and cock and hole incontinent with the despair of desire/ you lived in a coven of us but our eyes had been sewn tight with fish gut/ https://timbarrus.tumblr.com

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…

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…

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…

crowded by the sky

dragging your mind across the sawdust floor/ all your southbound ships are tombs of cries crowded by the sky/ your crippled wings are rusted, and your amputated bones have been thrown into the potter’s field of savable parts/ https://timbarrus.tumblr.com

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