Tim Barrus in the New York Times

We begin this video in a graveyard. We end the writing part of this in the same graveyard. You will not get it. But then, we don’t make jack shit for you. So what IS mainstream art. The video (above) has no name. It has no stars. It has no…

1933

holding me up

in the war against boys, first you cut off their legs/ well, i am ill, but i’m not dead/ and i don’t know which of those i prefer because that limb which i have lost, well it was the only thing holding me up, holding me up/ https://timbarrusart.tumblr.com

2 Straight Boys Hungry As a Straining Rope

the camera speaks because that is what it is designed to do/ digging down past the edges deep/ turf or the boundary lines kinda fade away/ they are almost scared/ the disingenuous would call it new horizons/ actually, what straight males fear the most is shit/ the land of the…

le crib

from above we see…

Tim Barrus: New York Times: Get Real

Michelle Goldberg at the New York Times tells us to hit the streets. Nine million Americans live in the streets. Exactly how is it that they’re supposed to hit them. The New York Times people are smart and they have good intentions. But they live in a well-funded bubble, and…

New York Times: On Queer Childhood

I mentor boys at-risk for HIV. Many of them do sex work. They don’t carry the baggage of typical adolescents. Their baggage is a lot more breath-taking. People see delinquency, the juvenile justice system, and detention. None of which work. That people do not understand homelessness, hunger, and hate, is…

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/

THE CAMERA SEES THROUGH YOU

the camera sees through you because the camera does not take photographs by itself it needs you it sees through you it uses you it needs you to pick it up it is only through you that the camera has any meaning or relevance at all it is through your…

writ large

writ large scorched the you at every level your fingers on my tit tracing my hardly private sorrows i make a mockery of the habits of the sun lean and watch i am taking photographic evidence and writing poetry that takes sides that takes sides https://medium.com/@timotheebarrus

All The People You Are Bowing To

this tongue in blue scraped along the landscape of the rougher moons/ memories of the wolves who have fed from here/ sleeping naked in the autumn leaves, you always did scare the fuck out of them/ https://timbarrus.tumblr.com

When They Realize

when they realize that life is a fight for it/ all of life is a fight for all of it/ or whatever rush of it they can get a hold of and grab/ all you need are fists/ when they realize that i have survived most of what they continue…

Having Lived With You

having lived with you/ for so many years, i kinda knew what it was you wanted/ what it was you liked/ in that orchestration of a silent language and other things tongues are for/ the darker planets of your delicious bed/ how sharply in it, your cistern just beyond those…

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…

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

contorted

i really love it and it’s making me money

the report is all verbatim our exit interview sucked dick given the same weight we are all acrobats

your pain what pain your pain

he denied he was in pain i ignored the fuck out of him i did eat his ass out though his life was an animal of stealth but i could always smell his desire long before he arrived 

Moving Through the Fog Like Thieves

I drive through the fog on my big black bike. It’s a lot like sex at all the straining angles. Cutting through the Blue Ridge fog, we become less and less. Glowing in the dark around a bend. Leaning into the shadows of the moon. We slept like cards in…

The Black Rainbow You Have Painted

even the sex with you is always dark and to break it with a lack of hope my cock in your mouth and the antidote oblivious of any infinite book of secrets/ your tongue slipping into my urethra, and no i will not piss in your mouth because i am…

Tim Barrus On Being Touched: New York Times

Long before latin became a language, the politics of rape did not mean the translation we think we understand when someone says rape or writes it. Raped meant kidnapped because the Sabines were raped and kidnapped. There was no word for rape in the same way that today we still…

Roads of Salt

his ass had traveled & had disappeared many times only to show up again at the carnival of sea walls and quaintly labeled jars containing his voices & his fluids having torn himself open with tongues at the edges of the ponds

Except For This

except for this, i am always hanging on to stones/ i should have known better than to take a dancer home/ at least i called it a home/ someone had to/ i do have rules/ rule#1/ never ever ever ever take a dancer home unless you are completely mad/ a…

Or Why The Fuck Are You Here

exactly how does one make any sense of a universe-of-existence that both embraces change and runs away from it/ you either dive head first into the vast unknown, the uncontrollable, death with its chains for every mind/ the secrets you do not yet understand how to translate/ what do you…