1930s how they smelled

I want my boy to be sane and dumb. My daughter,
throw her to the seas. Or her sane and dumb I’ll
dress her, educate her, and toss her to the burning.
What conversation? No white Rome, no Seneca his
advices his balances his lyings, nor poor Mulk
sweeping the Hindi ass in bent prayer no saner
than the tiptoe dwarf that snuck in the fair.
Teaspoon of milk might I say our measurements gone
wrong told posterity we lived in an odd age when we
did not, or we prospered, and hear me sir we did not.
Back aches and sinuses the elves hacked in, that is
our inheritance, and children here never once pranced.


~ by Jeremy on May 12, 2012.

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