Chicago

So.... I'm in Chicago. Here's a Creeley poem, aptly named "Chicago":

Say that you're
       lonely - and want
something to
       place you -

going around groping
       either by mind
or hand - but behind
       the pun is a

door you keep open,
       one way,
so they won't touch you
       and still let you stay.

I can't see in
       this place more
than the walls
       and door -
a light flat
       and air hot,
and drab, drab, drab
       and locked.

Would dying be here?
Never go anywhere you
       can't live.

Concrete blocks painted an "off white" yellow tone - institu-
tional - very noisy, senses of people next side of wall, etc.
Get used to shrinking space - They'll let you out when
there's reason.