Sins of Sainthood

in a poem you say we are not saints
but fucking artists; it raises questions:
are all saints programmatic to those so
cookie-cutter religions?     what of we
whose religion is art, each work raised up
a prayer to creativity itself,
our faith in the shared soul whose expression
is art in all its queer diversity,
its wondrous, luscious digressions and stern
insistence on a mercuric norm blown
by seasonal whims and the evolution
of intelligences   —   intuitive,
physical,  intellectual,  all   —   art
calls us to be saints of a different virtue.

David M Pitchford
19 Dec 2011


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