i woke this morning to find a white robe,
died and stolen purple; the emperor's hue
in thick velvet. and an arm SPQR, a birthmark transformed.
perched atop glints re-inforced metals,
and seated below on precious gold.
a silent dawn awoke to show the detritus of a battlefield,
not a garden but black boats crammed and listing,
no doorways but brown walls wailing in the desert.
i am one of this cities' spartans. praetorium 360;
holding back 2 million million broken backs.
make me one of his defiers