Leu Armada

I am the Rome of old.
The lightly falling terra cotta
is
not
fazing me.
Her great armada can come and go at will.
I
hear tales.
I hear of exhausted cities; subjugated and fallen ones.
Countries praying for just the Stone Age,
topography reversed.
I
hear
of paralyzed bodies
watching spectacular bombardments of the senses.
amazingly deflective, just to realign and mishape our essence.
I hear
of the borrowed and battered logic; one that imbalances our footing in the world.
And
I
need
to
hear no more.
I have seen
the great arsenal
in the distance;
Its
ominous presence
circling
my soft belly.
Understood--my cerebral cortex pulls at my pant leg.
and
I have
yet observed
terra
cotta
trimming my face.
But
I am
the Rome of old
and
I can
only hope
there are no signs of
cracks
in my
mind
and hope
that quake
is the earths.