pietà by my side

pietà by my side
draw me that
pitying picture

of The Mother
cradling her
spurned son

that has inspired all
those sculptors, poets
and painters

to live, a poem
must die
in the lap of the poet

resurrected by
the source of
smashing love

tear it down tear
it all down and
pietà builds it up

by my side
in loose
lashes of the pen

my partner in
heraldic play
hand to pen to paper

the mother and the poet
sacrifice their children
to brute betrayals

and watch
their ascensions
from guttural prayers

we incant
and we outcast
and we topple

the girl with
hair the color of a
Mediterranean night

proves again
that i must seek
the shelter of palms

of the guiltless
ones who have
a better view

of the source
of the free
and epic heavens

unfettered
by the tongues
of elders

pietà by my side
wings across
the page with doves

as her beloved
carriers; no foil
to the divine process

i fly there
too when i'm
a child

and i have
loosed the latches
on all the bindings

pietà by my side
it's a pity
i don't dance more

the way you
do and let fly
the sins of men

that keep the
mothers and the
poets crying