A Clean Tongue

Curses trickle through my brain,
like drizzle in the air:
from what I ascertain,
it’s urine in the drain.

O wicked tongue of trash,
that makes my mother glare,
your vileness so brash,
the rules are now rehashed.

Your vowels, those drunken vendors,
and consonants, I must beware.
My script will now surrender
your words, such vile pretenders.

And I’ll waste not this tongue
(though my wit might need repair!)
until I dwell among
the pure (a bit high-strung!)