Tim Barrus: The Broken Piano at the Bar

He performed and every time he did it, the people cried.

Tim Barrus: Americana

Tim Barrus: Repose

Tim Barrus: Voices in Dust. Things.

Je sors aujourd’hui. Sorcière de la forêt insaisissable. Histoire des non oubliés. Nous sommes des millions.

Tim Barrus: The Failure of Capitalism

I am a communist. Capitalism is immoral. Capitalism exploits. Capitalism entrenches class and caste. An intolerant religion. It is the monstrosity upon whose bones rests the rusted rooms of pain. Capitalism demands probate. The homeless will arrive at your door, and we will ring the bell, and beg. We will…

tim barrus: and still counting times ten

Everyone knew his mother was a whore and they just got by. The Shell station sells Taquitos hot from the roller grill. An orphan of the liquor store Big Cup Dixie Fried Apple Pi. They’d fry anything. In a Econo-Motor Speedway motel room. A portal to another time. Sour worms.…

Tim Barrus: Believe it or not.

Tim Barrus: Artists

Tim Barrus: Something Fell From the Sky Today

You just think I am looking at you right in the eye. Eye to eye. It will never happen. I am very good at this. I’m staring at your shoulder. Or I’m looking at your ear. But you think you have my attention. I smile. I agree. I am looking…

Tim Barrus: Move on Back, Move on Back

There’s my way, or there is get out of the car. Sometimes, I will agree to photograph an event. But if I do it my way (like deal with actual people) I will edit out my big fat autistic mouth. How I experience the event will usually seep into the…

Tim Barrus: Way Over His Head

Tim Barrus: What if the light comes in.

The windows were seductive. They played games in tandom. War was only presicient.

Tim Barrus: Often, it’s arrogance itself that would marginalize us at every step, every step, there is a Mitch McConnel inside your head.

I am a communist. Capitalism fails. Property Real estate is ephemeral. It can be washed away. It can be burned to the ground. It can slide down a hill. Government can build a road through it. Gas wells. Oil wells. None of this needs your permission. Floods move it a…

Tim Barrus: The Bad Truant Children All Have Cameras and They’ve Been Watching

You would brush all the summers by your conflicts with desire. Your children were jumping on my couch today. Make them stop. Go home, Woman, and take your rug rats with you.  

tim barrus: and in the wake of another wave of sabotage

Isolation on any map.

tim barrus: for me, it was just a distant land

The yellow glow of the porch light attracted moths and men.

tim barrus: even the air hurt

that time in tents

tim barrus: divided by our wanderings

by the time the communists arrived he was now a pretty girl

Tim Barrus: Joined at the Hip

Only fools fall for you.

Tim Barrus: A Far Afternoon

That we shall end by knowing full speed a million swallows when by eyelids dragging and pale, the ordinary vanishing of us, and our rags.

Tim Barrus: A Willow Cabin At Your Gate

Memory like the stones of Troy. Death has paid in alms. Desire sans wounds. Mere poetry is extracted from the walls.

Tim Barrus: Dirt Bike Town

I am a communist. I own nothing but a dirt bike. One bag. My camera is the size of a match box. It’s probably the one freedom – freedom from stuff – I really have. There’s a star spy spot in San Christobal in the Sangre de Christos, and if…

Tim Barrus: Witches Do Not Have a Divided Duty

Internal Dialogues. Voices. Desire. Where Is It Written That I Am Obligated To Tell You What Is Real. What has passed the tests of time, and how to break a crackerjack. Choose. One. That fits.

Tim Barrus: I Am Inappropriate Because I Provoke Publishing Insiders

Writers Are Usually Getting Fucked In the Ass by Someone. Who can write the best essay on Kids Whose Parents Are Dead.