"Lament for Fronting
O Damsel, how is your torso . . .? How you tiptoe! O Maiden, how is your torso . . .? How your slip shows! O accomplished woman whose benefit now annulled, how do you abide? O Nymphet whose downgrade unnerves your higher priestess, how is your torso. . . ? After your benefit annulled, now how do you abide? After your indulgence, your warmth and interest, how is your torso. . . ? Your tabernacle unworshipped, now how do you abide? Your altar turned to syrup, how is your torso . . .? You are not the prized tulip in a field reduced to turnip rounds. You cannot wakeup beloved in a meadow reeking fish. You cannot pose as impune to those who sowed before you."