we will never be perfect in poetry

art is an unholy act in that
we leave sketches and demos and rough drafts
we admit imperfection in the tainted trail
that is process and shows all the times that we failed
on the way to making something maybe pretty good
no one can mistake you for flawless from the evidence you left
you can’t pass for respectable
no one ever would
believe you a saint
thank God for that

art doesn’t mean not knowing the word “quit”
art means knowing the meaning of the word “quit”
but having a liberal arts education that allows you
to deconstruct that meaning into hoary oblivion
to take the textbook definition of the word “quit”
taking it apart until there’s nothing left of it
and then also
not quitting

in art, like heat, we rise
in art, like dough, we rise
in art, like the sun each morning no matter how much we screwed up, we rise
in art like hope, we rise, like stakes, we rise
as in art and so too in the tides
like cream to the top and like tears to our eyes
again everyone’s better judgement, we rise
and we do it again

to make art is to be a heretic
to reject the safe paths
to reject worldly logic
throw ourselves into the staining muck of process
and holy shit
I love it