Anti-Heroin Chic
  • Home
  • About
  • Blog
  • Music
  • Art
  • Comedy
  • About Our Contributors
  • Masthead
  • Issues
  • About our contributors - 2019
  • About Our Contributors - 2020
  • About Our Contributors - 2021
  • Home
  • About
  • Blog
  • Music
  • Art
  • Comedy
  • About Our Contributors
  • Masthead
  • Issues
  • About our contributors - 2019
  • About Our Contributors - 2020
  • About Our Contributors - 2021
Search by typing & pressing enter

YOUR CART

​

4/4/2022

Poetry by Chris Bottini

Picture
                 Artwork: Sarah Bottini




And Then Where Did I Go?

A church basement
Styrofoam coffee cups and love I didn’t want
Or need I needed neurons and synapses equal to the world
And being well short of that I wanted none at all
Wanted numbness and a fast forward button
The quickness of pleasure and its immediate present
Save me from thought 
Drop me on a stool in the soft low light
Of my last evening melting into madness
But instead you brought me here
You who I know now only by silence
And by practice and never directly
But when I see you reflected or refracted
Against green moss or the idea of green
Against my quietest need met by hands 
That could touch anything else but touch me
Against coolness or warmth or the sharp edge
Of turning from the easy to the simple
Against unnecessary grace 
And the infinitely knowable, my dearest people

When I see you there for a moment I stay
In the basement of our quiet work

​
​

​
The Karner Blues

I’m taken by good things 
done quietly.
On the ocean floor microbes eat methane,
A silent consuming keeps the earth 
Cool, stable.

Meanwhile on the surface, 
the Thunderous
drain the pond of our own work 
for a new mall 
that sells progress and sneakers
so clean there’s no trace of the humans
who made them.
A plaque on the wall 
of the Karner Blue Butterflies killed 
reassures all 
we are kind.

Our Father Our CEO says
We do good by doing well.
Growth is also the lump on my breast.

Two eternal women steady a man 
Fallen on the hot street. 
A band unnamed only plays shelters
and no money gets you front row seats.
We dangle together unsheltered
On the hot street
In the shelter
In the front row
Remembering the Karner blues 
Hoping the ocean below.



Picture
Chris is a poet who lives in Albany, New York with his one-eyed cat named Leela Bubbles McFriendship and a guitar named Gretschen. His poems have previously appeared in the spam folders of his friends.


Comments are closed.

    Author

    Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.

    Archives

    December 2024
    November 2024
    August 2024
    July 2024
    April 2024
    March 2024
    December 2023
    November 2023
    October 2023
    September 2023
    August 2023
    July 2023
    June 2023
    March 2023
    December 2022
    October 2022
    July 2022
    June 2022
    May 2022
    April 2022
    January 2022
    December 2021
    November 2021
    September 2021
    August 2021
    July 2021
    May 2021
    April 2021
    March 2021
    February 2021
    January 2021
    December 2020
    November 2020
    October 2020
    September 2020
    August 2020
    June 2020
    May 2020
    April 2020
    March 2020
    February 2020
    December 2019
    November 2019
    October 2019
    August 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    March 2019
    February 2019
    January 2019
    December 2018
    November 2018
    October 2018
    September 2018
    August 2018
    July 2018
    June 2018
    May 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    February 2018
    January 2018
    December 2017
    November 2017
    October 2017
    September 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016

    Categories

    All

    RSS Feed

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.