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The Saintly Lives of Students

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!

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