LIFE IS SHIT AND THEN YOU DIE

this would be about authority/ or how they use it as death itself in the thousand torments interrupting the outraged mourners sleep again/ they will hold you down/ your face into the floor, like grief collapses sunset lit, and the hiv landscape is cement/ i cannot pay his bail so they will keep him tightly clasped to the weapon of his one singularity gone semantic in the silence of the snow is it snowing yet i have to get home and home is a long way down an old dirt road emptied of his useless wordlessness/ his bail, his bail, his sinking further down the hardness of his cock like it was, instead, cutlery/ and he emerges soaring in his epitaphs of war, and he will get them, too, he insists he is always right/ how many times have i been the recipient of the attitude where he hates himself/ the cops are now his mental health associates/ the crippled dog before the shotgun/ heaven flashes like a neon light wingtips the bordello’s edge/ if he hasn’t told them if he has not explained versus keeping silent, as he insists he has not testified against both his self and his second self, that he is turning tricks, and dreaming of their cocks inside he ass, the boy sustains no equilibrium either in or outside the walls of all his prisons and how many prisons has he split from with all his arrogance between his dragon’s legs, topaz keys to the cage they beat him in, his nakedness being duly noted in what cops find a necessity in the turning off of light that might illuminate the anger that has been inflicted on a kid whose well-being was fragile before he lit the joint/ as if death in her thousand torments could turn his chaos into more than the quick dull glow of burning embers letting loose the unrepentant hatreds of his slowly moving smoke that hangs heavily just above the predatory ground/

tim barrus,

founder: cinematheque films, Paris

founder: smash street art progrtam 4 kids at risk

founder: ridgecrest medical clinic

creative director: real stories gallery foundation 501c

poet