Tim Barrus New York Times

Take notes. Legend and mythology are both subject to modern terminology and continual updating. The Iliad was music. The Iliad was a song. The Iliad was voice. The Iliad was history and a lot of it was simply created so Homer could go home. It was Greek but it was…

This Is Over Pixalated 4 A Reason

Race and Desire I love people who dance just because. No one told them they could not do it. Race and desire. It kinda takes some of the hurt part out of it, the part where Race and Desire get along. Sex is, too, a politikal le act. A politikal…

At First, They Wandered – Homer

“The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.”― Albert Camus – again. Whom did the sailors say they were, and how did they land. Beasts from another world, they had slaughtered themselves, playing at…

upstairs in our bed

what sort of old stone house is this with its memories of the old people playing cards downstairs while we pretended sleep the kind of sleep lost somewhere between the morning and the mystical, the musical, and the misbehaved

I told My Stdents 2 Kill Themselves

An Excerpt From the New York Times and Going Rogue West Liberty High School, Iowa Most teachers had given up on the lot of them. The bad ones. The kids who fall between the cracks into the awesome, Great Divide. Great Divides are everywhere. It was about learning to debate.…

You Are A Fortess

GoingRogue You are a fortress. You have always been a fortress. A fortress of slaughter. Broken. Gone mad. Castles. Only to turn your back on us. This is how you want to be perceived. I can buy some of it. But I have seen eyes like your eyes before the…

Tim Barrus New York Times

The list of things I will not do is far longer than the list of things I will do. For one thing, I won’t get close enough to touch you. I jerk off. Wearing a mask. You watch. And, no, I will not let you touch me for more money.…

whore hotels

unhinged, i am sucking his cock, he is sitting on the toilet/ the disenchanted bed we slept &fucked in smells soft like the sleep of stones/ it is the bike that sings &pings in the parking place outside the motel door/ death cums in my mouth, &we know we will…

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…

Eating Ass

Most straight boys have no idea what a fetsh really is. For them, it’s merely a stereotype in a world they pretend to fathom. Let us pretend some other guy (sexuality is irrelevant which is a surprise to most straight boys) wants to eat our mythological boy’s little hole. The…

You Are Over Your Head

your hair and shampoo and open the windows you have been thinking again and let me lick the lemon from your hands we will drink gin tonight and laugh at all the wounds we ever had and wonder how it is we dream of one of us is the other…

U Can Write An Entire Sex Scene Just About the Eyes

so this morning, he turns over in his wondering where he is, and just before it all comes back to him, to face me with his bedroom eyes, and i am, as always, taking his photograph/ he rolls his eyes/ he asks if there is anything about me that has…

The Walls of What Remains

Among the walls of what remains, there’s always writing. If I am totally alone, and out on the lake on a winter’s night, I will walk across the ice, and looking up, there it is, the past. I can see the past. The Coma clusters have come undone. I make…

Dorm

i would sit in the dormroom chair, it was not comfortable/ watching you masturbate/ we never talked about it/ we avoided it/ never exloring our own roles and participation in it/ that fire sale was not extinguished/ i no longer sit in the dormroom chair watching you masturbate/ sometimes, we…

My Appalachia

cautionary bones/ we could climb the tree to get through your bedroom window/ even winter’s scalpel cold, and the fireplace was burning oak, and that warm scent would hibernate under your sheets and quilts like caves where your tongue inside my mouth was not unlike walking through the fields with…

We Had to Stop…

Memory’s Machine

road trip with the dust and weed smoke in the car so thick, our eyes were the gas stations in the full gasoline noon/ the small town street lamps had once been crows, and all the motels had been rolling hills whose With Nothing To Return To was solid as…

Divergent Outcomes

yielding widely diverging outcomes flapping wings and randomness analytical techniques doubling the forecast time proportional uncertainty so much external noise not unlike the supersymmetry or trajectory of being inside him repeating a history of the intuition of periodic orbits scattered infinite-dimensionally points of large arrays whose resonance in fluid motion…

TruckFuck

on our broken aching backs mesmerized and looking up at the whiskey stars in the metal hard bed of your ancient truck the fucktruck drinking  jack and smoking a torrent of that white trash weed the stars a hundred feet away/ your ass smells like the feed store/ a sweaty…

Put Your Tongue In My Mouth

his tongue was always a sort of ruins set apart from the cold or even from the rest of him his cock his eyes his hands his shit hole his hollow in the mountains where the crows live

sucking his feet like cock

i am not supposed to write this kind of juicy cock poetry because there are children around on the planet like flies/ we are required to dumb down reality for the mommies and the children always someone else’s children with the birthday cakes and pink balloons/ these people make me…

An Assumed Name

i never used my real name doing sex work, it wasn’t difficult becoming him, a withdrawal from reality and sleep among the tricks and the travelers who are your fathers and your brothers and your husbands and your sons, your friends and the people you work with and the people…

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…

Because It Has Drawn Blood

because it has drawn blood i let you play because it has drawn blood you pushed the catheter in because it has drawn blood for a moment that core because it has drawn blood fed on rockweed seas because it has drawn blood and silences all memories of the dead…

Your Parents Were Asleep In The Downstairs Bedroom

your parents          were asleep/ in the downstairs bedroom we were                          upstairs through lucidity and the night of        thorns/ mayhem unconstrained the milkman stairs groaning but never      taking sides/ your midnight cock like oceans deep in the tearing evidence of blood diffused by        carnage/ your parents downstairs/ unafraid https://timbarrus.tumblr.com