Here where the squalling cornets Toss flashes of yellow lightning Into the dazzling arena In which a naked woman dances With the loathsome modesty of the tradeswoman, Here where the great minds die Of too much silence amidst the uproar, Here where the Old World has crept To lick its ancient wounds, Here have I come To find new answers to the old questions. And I have found Her standing in green-skinned nudity Like a young girl raped before maturity Yet panting with callow passion To be further seduced; And I have heard Her name grow common on the tongues Of roues, without seeing any shame Beautify her countenance. Her body has become my property And my hands are sick with the touch of her flesh; Her favors are no longer precious to me And her caresses are a weariness. I tell you, America -- About whose head play the winds of darkness -- I tell you, There is a great void in my being That you might have filled. |