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Noah Falck is the author of Snowmen Losing Weight (BatCat Press, 2012), and several chapbooks including Celebrity Dream Poems (Poor Claudia, 2013) &Life As A Crossword Puzzle (Open Thread, 2009). Recent work has appeared or will appear in Colorado Review, Denver Quarterly, Harvard Review, & He lives in Buffalo, NY, where he works as education director at Just Buffalo Literary Center.

2 poems by Noah Falck


for Brian & Gregg

There aren’t words

yet invented to say

what I want to say.
I want to say something


like how the inside of a baseball

feels when it punches a batter


hard in the thigh as a form

of respect. Something like


wine in the mouth, on the teeth

at a party where everyone


is a child again

playing with matches,


with fireworks

inside all their mouths.


Or rather something like

the face of a horse


burned into the mind 

so when you close your eyes


at night you become

a memorial of beauty,


a memorial to whatever

happens next. 



The tautness of a rope

holds together old friends,

continents, the world. Mist

kisses tourists in a summer

of blondes and brunettes,

a summer of war on war.

All the foreign sounds

become tiny abstract paintings

in a child’s notebook.

No one is going to hell.

Everything is fine

and out of season

(so to speak). The Falls

rush by as if to say

we are always a work

in progress, a joyful deterioration.

Mist kisses tourists evenly

under a closed sky

we mark these words. 

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