where do you go when you lay your head to rest; upon the laurels in the canopy of breath, or to wildwood thickets and entangled pure excrement of excite; your supine tenderness blurs the lines of tremendousness into the minds' concupiscent forlorn worlds, Worlds for new Words, and tinders beautiful blues while the light's hum their tremulous cries, and the majesty of woman reigns hero and heroine, mused and amused, in the qu'ues of real crimes