we dig up ancient shards <br />clicking cameras <br />among the dying cypresses <br />choked by Athenian smog. <br /> <br />yet cats continue basking <br />in the hazy sun <br />the chained goat sways in ecstasy <br />the Parthenon looks down from creamy heights <br />lichen and rust nibble the pediments <br />and tourist feet break the spell <br />of antiquity's vibrations <br /> <br />the grass hits <br />as I look at rusty orangeade caps <br />thinking Who needs nuclear Apollo? <br />thermonuclear Minerva? <br />Nike crashing to grand finale? <br /> <br />we need the anti-Christ <br />who is probably playing football around the corner <br />the sweet boy who used to be called Eros <br />and wants us to be happy. <br /> <br />bring back the carnivorous saint <br />whose mother is no virgin <br />she's Our Lady of Peace Movements <br />to ban the bomb and clean up the air <br />she'll wave her umbrella and change the world. <br /> <br />ah yes, when the grass hits <br />old worlds burn down and new worlds form <br />in clouds of brown monoxide morning. <br /> <br />Athens, Jan. 1964<br /><br />Harold Norse<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/carnivorous-saint/
