The end of sex
is just the beginning of another family
©1989 Arlen Lazaroff




©1999 Arlen Lazaroff

Arlen Lazaroff

We don’t make love anymore
it’s not on the market, all the factories are closed
the manufacturer’s warranty has just run out
with a serial numbered date
and the fate of love making has expired 
with contracts of expiring union workers
who make fifty cents more per hour
to make edible carcasses instead...
they all know love is dead

and those funky carcasses bring down flies
that are hungry for sex and reject the friendly skies
and nothing is more fun than two flies united
except for two humans in love 
whose public lewdness has been cited
by unfriendly public servants
who’ll say you’re obscene when you get excited...

we don’t print any valentines
it’s not being manufactured, it’s out of print
this offer’s not available in any store
we don’t make love anymore

we don’t make love for hicks and their chicks
or rubes and their boobs or adverts on the tubes
we don’t make love for pleasure or fun
we don’t make love for anyone

you don’t bring me flowers anymore
they’re not being grown for lunatic romantics
no matter how much consumers panic
no matter how your depressives get manic
we’re not sending flowers anymore

we don’t make love anymore
it’s not in stock, it’s not on order
it’s unavailable at any price
you can’t use a major credit card
you can’t kick it through a goalpost
you can’t cover all the bases
you can’t shoot it through a hoop or a hole or a basket
there’s the obvious question but you can’t ask it
love’s not for sale even if you’re a whore
we don’t make love anymore 



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