July Poem 30: In the Student’s Poetry

But you feel the loop. The pain. The pain is

Back. Afford insurance. The pain is back.

Angry mother. The pain is back. Holding.

The pain is back. Here. To create texture.

You can no longer better the bet

But its indigestion. But you feel so.

Advance and rise up. Hands apart. Saying,

I’m going to change the symbolism.

In the story. In the marijuana.

In the San Francisco sex on the beach.

Beaumont lives in the student’s poetry.

Melancholy as a fake dick standing.

Melancholy dick above a hundred.

Melancholy. Melancholy as fuck.

I Am Bear

I lumber past full classrooms

Sniffing for ripe berries.

I try to claw tree bark from

The bench in the hall

To pick grubs from their burrows.

I try to lick lines of termites

From the painted brick walls

I like the way they bite my

Lips as I chew. I want to

Gorge myself on fresh trout,

But the only thing streaming

Down these halls are other

Students that ready themselves

To sleep through the bleak days

Of ten page reports

And last minute cram sessions.

We are bear so we can

Hibernate through finals

And wake up in the workforce.