In Paris, where Timothy Patrick Barrus lives these days, in a very industrial-like loft, and in a room with a mattress on the floor, there's a painting of Sid Vicious on the wall above the mattress.

Souls and mates, Mate.

Barrus has been working on his poetry for a series of poetry videos he is making with Cinematheque Films. The video series is called "My Derelict Hotel." The following poem is from the series:

I Live in Bare Hotel Rooms With Guns

the hotel is haunted now with the corpses of the starved/ it had always been that kind of hotel/ no one knew anyone/ in the woven night the screams through the walls was most of the half-sad world/ now the dead have crept away/ i haven't seen a soul inside this place for years/ my silent room is a stockyard drained of blood and animals/ the guns i keep around to touch/ to hold/ to feel the steel cool against my warmer lips/ the long shaft of lead and death/ draws near/ scrambles eggs in brains/ a stain upon the wall/ nothing more/ almost to the curse/ the room above the river/ shadows have it that years ago the old tenant left a note for you/ a warning to be careful with the guns/ the barren guns/ the final self/ the guns that stir the stars/ hating everything/ the women bitching bitterly/ that the guns are bad/ how you love those guns/ she took the boys and left/ the idea of being late no longer has the slightest meaning to it/ the guns will keep the panic out/ the guns between your legs in bed/ my lover my guns/ i cum inside the barrel for the war is going badly/ in fact everyone at this hotel is dead but me/ the cold sober morning and the guns are always there/ you can implore these guns to forsake such sacrifice/ the rain outside the window is a solemn fundamental truth/ the dry guns/ the acidic guns/ the guns of dust and dread/ perfection swollen with relief/ no guns no knives no fighting in the rooms/ all visitors must register with the front desk/ tinged blue by the fires the guns create/ the guns have made you blind/ it's how they soothe the dark of me in metal's mourning black/ good guns/ they have no flag/ no father/ guns of the fantastically intrigued/ the unhinged guns/ maliciously eternal/ sacred guns/ the mouths of guns are full of filth/ their hollowness insistent/ does the night forget the guns/ marvelous guns/ impenetrable/ scandalous guns in my mouth and falling/ the searing songs of guns gone down to bone/ the unhinged guns/ wounding me in triumph/ the gorgeous guns keeping score/ i dream of thunder and betrayal/ the shiny guns mirroring the sun/ calm as stones/ the guns through the closed dim memory of something wrought from the abyss of this very room/

I Live in Bare Hotel Rooms With Guns

the hotel is haunted now with the corpses of the starved/ it had always been that kind of hotel/ no one knew anyone/ in the woven night the screams through the walls was most of the half-sad world/ now the dead have crept away/ i haven't seen a soul inside this place for years/ my silent room is a stockyard drained of blood and animals/ the guns i keep around to touch/ to hold/ to feel the steel cool against my warmer lips/ the long shaft of lead and death/ draws near/ scrambles eggs in brains/ a stain upon the wall/ nothing more/ almost to the curse/ the room above the river/ shadows have it that years ago the old tenant left a note for you/ a warning to be careful with the guns/ the barren guns/ the final self/ the guns that stir the stars/ hating everything/ the women bitching bitterly/ that the guns are bad/ how you love those guns/ she took the boys and left/ the idea of being late no longer has the slightest meaning to it/ the guns will keep the panic out/ the guns between your legs in bed/ my lover my guns/ i cum inside the barrel for the war is going badly/ in fact everyone at this hotel is dead but me/ the cold sober morning and the guns are always there/ you can implore these guns to forsake such sacrifice/ the rain outside the window is a solemn fundamental truth/ the dry guns/ the acidic guns/ the guns of dust and dread/ perfection swollen with relief/ no guns no knives no fighting in the rooms/ all visitors must register with the front desk/ tinged blue by the fires the guns create/ the guns have made you blind/ it's how they soothe the dark of me in metal's mourning black/ good guns/ they have no flag/ no father/ guns of the fantastically intrigued/ the unhinged guns/ maliciously eternal/ sacred guns/ the mouths of guns are full of filth/ their hollowness insistent/ does the night forget the guns/ marvelous guns/ impenetrable/ scandalous guns in my mouth and falling/ the searing songs of guns gone down to bone/ the unhinged guns/ wounding me in triumph/ the gorgeous guns keeping score/ i dream of thunder and betrayal/ the shiny guns mirroring the sun/ calm as stones/ the guns through the closed dim memory of something wrought from the abyss of this very room/