Over the bristling guns and the headlights, Over the truck that had shattered midnight . . . . One night, he is sent to arrest some gangsters, and there, in a suffocating brothel reeking of face powder, semen, and sweet liqueur, he finds her—“the one who had tormented me with her nightingale gaze.” She is bare-shouldered and bare-legged, half asleep and smoking a cigarette. He asks her if she recognizes him, and offers her money. Without opening her mouth, she whispered softly, “Please have some pity! I don’t need the money!” Throwing her the money, I barged into— Without pulling off my high boots, or my holster, Without taking off my regulation trench coat— The abysmal softness of the blanket Under which so many men had sighed, Flung about, and throbbed, into the darkness Of the swirling stream of fuzzy visions, Sudden screams and unencumbered movements, Blackness, and ferocious, blinding light . . . I am taking you because so timid Have I always been, and to take vengeance For the shame of my exiled forefathers And the twitter of an unknown fledgling! I am taking you to wreak my vengeance On the world I could not get away from! Welcome me into your barren vastness, In which grass cannot take root and sprout, And perhaps my night seed may succeed in Fertilizing your forbidding desert. There’ll be rainfalls, southern winds will bluster,