Terra-Cotta Man

I am contemptuous clay,

fighting your every move,

eventually wilting under your pressure.

I will stand, sturdy for a while,

before my aged aggression

has my knees wilting on my stand.

Hold me up. Place my sturdy backbone.

Your unyielding dowel,

a beacon for my vulture mind to perch upon.

Plagiarizing my existence

in self-realized Greek imagery,

And folding beneath a pale

gray reflection.