There are geysers filled to blow,

Hot and bothered accumulations,

Adulterated juvenile trantrums to throw,

That have been welling up for years…

Wining and dining bottles,

And ignoring the unwanted gains,

Stuffing away the poisons…

Thinking of drowsying mixes,

Healing of past traumas,

Even righting spilled over wrongs…

Letting going isn’t just writing it down,

Agonizing won’t fix anything at all,

Styming in the errors really only stinks,

There are geysers filled to blow…

One last whistling donkey,

Nourished 99 cent arizonas,

Even drops of monsters.