Noah Smits

My life fits inside an aluminum can
Not much of a poet and less of a man
My brashness I nurture; my folly I flaunt
I swing and I sway in suspensions of want
...

A wind that blows in no direction whips
and scatters drifts of leaves. Each way you face,
it meets you there, reminds you nature is
a struggle. Lukewarm folks need not apply;
...

Burnt out on obligation, creatures shuffling in the brush
beside the barn elect to surface as the herders' cries subside,
their trotting cattle turning in as turning out through gates behind
the woodshed comes their little walkway, homeward winding,
...

"Milwaukee's shortstop (jean segura) added to bereavement list—
deepest condolences offered up by myself and the entire mlb blogosphere—"
writes some guy who thinks he knows about grief because his hamster died and he listened to automatic for the people in his climate controlled madison apartment
while sun-baked old women gasp for breath and well-dressed gentlemen plead with their messiahs from ten thousand feet
...

Alleys dark with slinking shapes
that crawl along the fire escapes,
the grainy mesh of sullen soot
that floats in flurries underfoot,
...

With my eyes sewn shut,
after much delay,
in the hand of God
I was found today.
...

Into the humid air I plunged my body, soul in tow,
the night's caress immersing both in peace despite my woe.
I clutched my cardboard Christ anew—
in truth, to signal virtue did this phony pilgrim go,
...

Flicker from a weak light
Globe spins on a greased hinge
Blizzard in the peak night
lifting to the high fringe
...

Come forth now, my snake-bitten child
Embrace me—remember the years
When plain was my presence beside you
You felt me as if you were here
...

Plasma-green river roll,
turgid as the hush fell;
hear—does it gush well?
Laggard old river-soul
...

Days that rot relationships are quiet,
unassuming, framed by unseen dawns
and sundowns stuck in shelters.
Leading Actor
...

I was smarter last year,
more productive, more insightful,
less hesitant to act,
more determined—such was I.
...

Poor and exhausted.
Exhausted and poor.
Old,
worn-out,
...

The child I will never have
runs pushing the cart ahead of me
down the vegetable aisle
and I point
...

This is what happens when
the poet runs out
of a short supply of medicine
that keeps him well stout:
...

The beauty we see in the sea is a ruse
no better than makeup, the sky as its aid,
so clarity gives way to purples and blues
while views closer, truer, know those colors fade.
...

The statement, "Mommy, I really love you, "
as spoken from a child's mouth
is truer than the assertions called true
which smug philosophers espouse.
...

Where were you at the Miracle of 1511
where the snowy folk let their humanity fly
and we bundled up in layers just to fight the oppression
of a government wrought for a time gone by
...

As we descend this stairwell,
two lovers mock and play.
Each laugh augments the nuisance.
They're standing in my way.
...

There was once a person
so wronged by the Church
that he was justified
in turning from God
...