Poems by Christopher Clauss
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Microplastics
by Christopher Clauss
Christopher lives on the highlands nestled between the western slope of Mount Monadnock and the Connecticut River, on a hill where the soil is more rock than dirt, but the worms don't seem to mind as much as the gardeners do.
it is heaven
to live in
bliss
until it is
all we can remember
glimmerings
with every deep breath
burning so slowly it seems
almost trivial, melting
our motivation
away
at the heart
we said
this paradise
can not be spoiled
and suddenly
it’s the petroleum
we drew
from the earth
manufactured
into plastics
found miles
below the surface
of the ocean
© Christopher Clauss
Slush We Hardly See
by Christopher Clauss
The forecast
called for
accumulation
a bunch of snow
heavy and wet
falling overnight
and complicating
our morning commute
All we’ve got
is a dusting
an hour of slush
and rain
on top of that
We canceled plans
biting our lip
sure the worst
was almost
crashing down upon
us and now
the day leaves us feeling
time that has been wasted
Is a lie someone
randomly guessing
and hoping eventually
flakes of
reality will be
in front of our eyes
The narrative
is what we tell ourselves
to keep us sane
falling into abstraction
We hardly see
it soaks our roots
and leaves us
busting up concrete
and spitting blood
Of the things we said
true and reckless
our tongues goading
the worst part of
all of it: how it is
so off the mark
© Christopher Clauss