GREAT BEGINNINGS, 1797
“My soul looked down from a vague height with Death,
As unremembering how I rose or why,
And saw a sad land, weak with sweats of dearth,
Gray, cratered like the moon with hollow woe,
And pitted with great pocks and scabs of plague.”
(the beginning of the poem “The Show” by Wilfred Owen, 1893-1918)
CHICAGO SHOOTINGG GALLERY
Through Sept. 30 there have been 651 homicides in Chicago. L…