The saintly lives of students:
There, there(‘s) a graveyard in the college where drunk
students in funeral suits smile through t o m b s t o n e teeth.
There, there(‘s) a misty haunt of fresh deathly stares
between stony, stoned eyes. Dewy days of Monday’s
mo(u)rnings, book bags as big as eye bags from staying up on
Sunday nights resurrecting the Lord from his day of rest to
pray you meet the deadline. Forty days and fo(ugh)ty nights
sleeping like the dead – “It’s blues week” they said. There
there, you’re nearly there! Where? Back to the graveyard, in
the mist, in the midst of it all again? For the saintly college
name et the degree deity the student body is a martyr:
devoted but dead. When we drink our wine and eat our
bread at formal (wake) it’s the communion of the
community. Santé. Cheers to its continuity!
 a graveyard in the college where drunkstudents in funeral suits smile through t o m b s t o n e teeth.){kind=link}