Friday, December 9, 2011


Blood run down centuries finally found in today's young men is damned.
DNA floods and wants its' family tree to grow, its' seeds purposefully sown,
given to live in the streams it's delivered, flowing as a continual river.

Ancestors of whores were sold by their fathers to the best buyers.
A hymen was a tested seal of freshness; were it absent the deal's undone,
the daughter a wastrel and no gained son.
No man, not one wanted to waste his funds on a spoiled product.
Now a man whoremongers daughters who're NBO no longer.
An easy lay is the highest romantic aspiration in the western nations.
Winning with twins at an inn is a double score.
Who dares ask for more?
Mo' lasses laid, legs splayed forthwith with width for their only lover,
ready to become mothers as owed in old betrothal's convenient nuptial covenant rituals,
than modern legions of lady collegians who are so wet for debt they race against regret
to win their bellies from would-be infant company.

Every date is a gamble at the slots, a lottery ticket bought.
Try before you buy is the marketing strategy hopefully succeeding in bringing breeding to vacant wombs.
Soon some rooms are rented but they're not protected nor parented as no contract backed the temporary merger.
Dowries are still paid but they've been made larger and post-matrimonial.
How could a girl, long-forgot maiden-knot broken with a vow unspoken,
now bring more than disloyal strife to the role of wife?
Self-control shunned, naught but openness known,
what fool anticipates temperance to be learned at home?
A collector may as well feel elated picking up a coin long circulated though the mint's printing condition can't be returned.
Word has spread so buyers dread signing the dotted line below which fine print reads:
a woman's needs limit your property to the half she charitably leaves
and any son he sires will become a stranger only touched by income.

In ancient times this desert clime was a merry marital riverbed.

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