Thy form is lovely and thine eyes are honeyed,
O'er thy face the pale
Clear light of love lies like a veil.
Bidding thee rise,
With outstretched hands,
Before thee Aphrodite stands.
by Campbell McGrathThe ghosts of Chicago are not immaterial, they are not sad or lost.
They wander among us, worldly and explicit.
They fear the hawk and speak respectfully of the mayor.
Hoping for nickels their laces ...