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Drunks in a Midnight Choir

Intersections No. 15 · Winter 2002

The flasks clink under our red silk robes.
Oh God, forgive us for the off-key notes,
the harmonies so far from kilter they punch holes
in the midnight sky, your endless dark coat.

Oh, God, forgive us for the off-key notes.
It’s hard to fight the shakes, the bitter cold
in the midnight sky, your endless dark coat.
We should be sent packing, truth be told,

but it’s hard to fight the shakes, the bitter cold.
We mangle the words: mudder and chile.
We should be sent packing, truth be told,
But it’s the season to forgive what’s vile.

We mangle the words: mudder and chile.
The whisky dulls us. A grindstone gone bad.
But it’s the season to forgive what’s vile.
Even wise men praise the humble and make glad.

And so, in spite of our breath, our trembling hands,
the harmonies so far from kilter they punch holes
in the night, we offer our songs. Our music stands.
And the flasks clink under our red silk robes.

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