In their secret rooms

I wrote down each turn, every street name, all the way to the library at Copley Square. It was a grey fogged up evening made for walking. When walking, I kept glancing down at the hole in my arm where another arm could have fit right through it. It kept feeling like a hole. When I crossed the bridge home, this woman in gym clothes walking towards me and her small girl waddling behind her and calling out, her on the telephone saying "don't ever have children, i swear", and its starting to rain. Its been long, time walking and walking all day; Arlington, Abington, F. Scott Fitzgerald. The library at Copley Square, it was much too large, and I hadn't known what to do there. I looked for the books. They were all hiding, in their secret rooms.