Jacob Rotten Broughton

Jacob Rotten Broughton
He’s a tonic we chase honest working liquor with a faucet
..fairly honest
Now her bra sits on the top, “Not underneath, or we’d be slobbish”
Opera singers, kitchen mops within our fingers all along
It fits to say he’s right upon it
Rubbing fingers on the job shift
“Where am I now?”
He asks her how he did the dishes, yet their outfits stay on without him
Again, the sound
The dishes sang aloud like crowds did
A sound, finally heard now
“We want it now”
He begs them, “How, with all my wedding pictures on the counter!?”
“We want it now”
He’s the man with no shower
No showers between the Quiet Her and the Loud Her
Neither objectified, though merely lovers
He’s the man with no regrets and no decisions to his own, first
He’s a man, much like his father; And a lover like his mother

He surrounds her
Singing loud into the crevice she regards first
Ears that aid her to the slain, whom she slays herself but asks the time, first
“Time to flip”

Now, I myself resound with all I’ve got, yelling it out as if my lessons wither onward
The lessons that Jacob Rotten Broughton is not worth: …

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