I've got to launder dry skin,
I've got to deep-clean this part of me.
To deep-clean this part I'll start where the feel's hardened me.
I've got to launder plied skin.

I've got to go and jump in
A tub, where I will scrub; the soap bubbles will make me swell.
While I soak, I poke, choke, stroke, "croak"-- that is, the "little death" knell.
Ungummed, I laundered that skin.

My sack was vised by my fingers held tight;
At that time, the water was clear.
I scrubbed off blight until my skin was clean and bright;
Water frothed up like head on beer.
Back it rolled, little tool commenced to burgeon.
It was bent back by me; shaken like a sapling tree.
Then a fluid like roux jumped, a shot of dew
Made a plop right where it dropped in
The water. I'd laundered dry skin.