In the Midst

There is no place for poetry here.
Everyone has crowed around with.  Beer,
Talking and laughing, creating filled lightning praise
Of answers and yelling.  Telling jokes
Bullied into a broadcasted song.  
Where I forgot what I...  

"cheers beloved, cheers."

Through smeared glass I heard,

"quiet beloved...quiet."

And I wiped away everything between us, and

"come beloved, come."

O grace, 
That you would look upon my making sense
And leave it for swine.
My pearls are You staring into my eyes, close to my face;

when I feel You breathe.

O intoxicating solitude,
Through a blare of crowding glasses (the stuff of intoxication)
Be near.

Here I can understand Your quietness.


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