The Gusher

These are stains upon your genes You play me Fresh And new Twenty lashes in the drain Collecting Soapy Residue The water in the sink, turns brown Power to be clear, swishing it around You scrape The skin With a razor blade not the end it's supposed to be display me boxed re-viewed all the tears in Tennessee for the positive lover or freak passing with the speed of sound hours to be here buried in the ground soon to touch the ass of god's gusher