Poetry from Chris Butler

Billion Dollar Bombs, Baby

We human beings are
squishy, soft little blobs
pumped full of life's liquid
that can be killed
by a sharpened stick,
but we decided
to go all the way to
the other end
of the spectrum
to mass extinction.

Barbarism in the Next Apocalypse

If society were to break down,
if civilization reverted back to basic animal instinct,
if there were no laws or government,
if there were no rules or regulations,
if the food was to become scarce,
if the storms were to come ashore,
if the levees were to break,
if the lights were to turn off,

most cruel men would not be murderers or profiteers,
they would become rapists.


Is the world's most dangerous
elephant's foot
afraid of a mouse,
as much as we are
afraid of its next step?

The first day of hell

on your last day on earth, the person you
could have become will meet the person you


The rats will follow us to the moon,
stowaways in the circuits of space rockets,
settling in the walls of our little colonies,
sneaking to eat all of the celestial cheese
and transit and transmit the fleas of disease.  

Chris Butler is an illiterate poet howling from the Quiet Corner of Connecticut.

One thought on “Poetry from Chris Butler

  1. On “The first day of hell”:

    hope or complete devastation, depending on your definition of hell . . .

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