the history of all hitherto existing society is

sun faded plaster on the hotel rooftop

surronded by mountains, Athens lies

within a bowl

the Parthenon is on strike tomorrow

the workers, not the building

i sip my juice

dying orange light gliding over the peaks

the masses kick up dust on the gravel streets

i wonder where they'll go

still having time to follow, i put down

the drink and grab my canvas bag

out the door

i told no one of my journey

a secret sojourn makes it feel

like freedom

on the bus ride in i saw an empty city

filled with eerie silence—car windows smashed

metro stops broken

trash lay everywhere (collectors

on strike) the air was

heavy

tonight did not feel heavy i followed the

crowd down the narrow streets and felt

only lightness

wrinkled fasces, hushed exictement, shifting ground

i was no longer just myself—i had

become the crowd

we funneled into a square, smooth stone, grey, sticky

with the air of a humid evening small bodies

packed tight

smoke poured out of the church incese filled

my vision, smell corwding out reality

do i enter?

my excitement built as the crowd made the choice

for me the inside was more beuaitufl than

i had hoped

gold gold gold! everything with gold trimming

mosiacs of every color and the crying out of

a people freed

it was only one night, of course a day of

police bottles and a night of celebration

as release

i was free the world streched on before me

as a woman prostrated herself in front of

the saint

never felt that way since the bubbling up of

possiblity only appears during a night of

collective liberation

i spent the next day eating rooster and

catching my glasses before they fell

off a bridge