Memory’s Machine

après la fête le reste rages de poussière resté derrière se masturber à l’intérieur du cerveau enregistrer plus tôt tragédies désorientées par flou si parallèle événements https://www.instagram.com/timbarrus/

Memory’s Machine

lost afternoons justly placed each mirror could be manifest beyond sex work is still work and sweat and humiliation just like any other form of work an arrangement of perspective sheets, walls, scrubbing floors in unison our lips in full abundance we brought along our gods from the pawn shops

Memory’s Machine

et sa ceinture quand il fouette tu es nu vous autorisez seulement lui baiser toi dans le cul quand il y a pas de nourriture et ton ventre grogne comme un tigre bleu a sauté à travers la fenêtre à ton lit vous dites à votre agresseur te baiser dans…

Except Sometimes

except sometimes your whispers tell us what you think it is we want to know and you are as always right about a lot of things/ like how pain and loneliness are often the same thing and your books of wandering arms outstretched have brought you here/ https://timbarrusart.tumblr.com

Your Photographs

beneath what photographic darkness does your panic ride and makes no promises to return, in fact, i have never heard you promise shit/ like some kind of human contract with anyone on the planet might elude your perpetual despair/ an exile in the innocence of graves/ how many tombs have…

The Motel

I always run out of needle boxes. The murders at The Motel are not your average slash and cut affairs in showers. It’s far more complex than that. It’s just not a place you would bring up the subject of HIV in any conceivable conversation. Tired tourists who find their…

And He Would Fly Away

his heart is rubbish/ he has always lived in his own world/ he knows the outside world is there/ he has simply chosen not to participate/ but such decisions have consequences/ you try changing his wet and shitty diaper/ i double dog dare you/ any romanticism you once held for…

Julian

Waiting For the Trick to Come

you are hoping he washes his ass in the shower because you are painfully aware that he’s going to demand that you eat it/ waiting, always waiting/ it makes no sense because they’re all on the clock anyway/ making you wait is going to cost them, but you’ve never been…

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…

I Never Sweep My Steps of Leaves

i never sweep my steps of leaves don’t trip leaning lightly on the memory that time we dodged the rain i held your wrists and and tasted your sybaritic mouth wet as a morning drowning in the lure of the sleep of tongues whose unspent hollow minutes walk down steps…

house of gnomes

the gnome house in the distance sits on circumstance and bones/ the gnomes live there, in their passages through the earthen tunnels of the badgers and the bears/ whose fierce eyes and crawling dark against a sky that has disappeared/ like the hidden rooms smell of the kind of spitting…

you split

the proper perspective through silence and then to be pulled away naked by the guards in fields you split into the wet wounds a death of fences https://timbarrus.tumblr.com/

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

steps worn in autumn’s light

steps laid out flat by leaves of oaks and too many children up and down commissioned with troubles from beyond the horrors of their families who says families are sacred families must be watched by watchmen ready to snatch the damaged from the damaged if i am carried by rags…

You Wanted To Eat My Hole

you wanted to eat my hole turning tricks on the street in the rain usually meant someone sucking cock usually in the backseat of a car the one that drove twenty times around the block and it was too cold for your tongue in my shit hole so i told…

bikerfuck

like the parking lot chimera you were you’d only fuck me on the bike in public it was the winter of the recent deaths, burning my hole in the growling of the emptiness schoolboys with cigarettes watching and pretending a degree of indifference if you are so i-do-not-care then, why…

Under Those Dark Barren Stars of Straw

under those dark barren stars of straw which one of you is ever really alone you are never alone or stand in apprehension living less than the dead with their machines whose tongues amid the slim partitions through open windows your famished sheets still feast upon and those light asswipe…

Someplace Else

all as frantic tongues by night less the depth of grief devours us like the past is just another dragon’s wrath and the parchment to write it on https://timbarrus.tumblr.com

The Sky Sags Over

all the healing youhave ever donefallen into the ruinsof a frailty of blueveins running palegloom times tenthrough you suckingcock careworn worthstealing all yourfaults rememberingsilence confined inyour choking on theshipwreck of his cum https://timbarrus.tumblr.com

how you fed me

you kept slipping quietly away while at the same time you keep saying more i hear you recklessly deserted me like rearranging furniture for better or for worse our actual experiences resisting there, too have their own price tags including your deep down gut secrets and I know them all…

crystal

rimming shit hole riding ponies idiosyncratic fixations shipwreck washed up to sands upon the fetish shore it’s a pony and he loves you cultural dust keeps flashing whispers that life is a neon miracle and all this being down is indulgence go buy a new car go buy designer underpants…

what more can they take away

now it made sense that no one would touch you everyone was afraid I was afraid not afraid i would catch it because i already had it but because your skin might disintegrate and i would have to lick you from my fingers as if you were a birthday cake…

what more can they take away

when I was naked and riding tigers arrogantly around your house silent and unhurried nightbound roads I took you to the carnival you were withholding even then unbind my tongue thin curtains candle wax and worn a startling receptivity to omens your opalescent asshole reconstructed crimes among the glances words…

a semblance of sorrowing

a semblance of sorrowing was the cage you built to keep us enclosed from the seasons and the snow/ i’m in the backseat of the jeep with the empty potato chip bags on the floor and the cookie crumbs/ you drove all night/ in the morning there was fog, and…