Ceci n’est pas une blank

It isn’t good blank to mention the word blank in a poem about blank.

Neither is it sensible to blank when what you really want is simply to blank.

What a blank. Vote blank.

And for those of you who blank, just keep in mind that old blank: blank.

 

There are many blank in a man’s blank when he just has to say blank.

And it’s not just a question of blank. Indeed

you may think this is something of a blank to blank blank all the time –

and you’re blank, completely blank – it’s a load of

Yes, I confess, it’s horribly blank. To blank or not to blank, that is

blank. And will we ever blank? I ask you that. Will we stand up

and blank? Tear down the blank and raise up the blank and blank?

Blank all the blank and look them in the fucking blank and blank?

 

Blank. Of course we can’t: there has to be a blank.

For us to come together and blank must we blank? We must.

Blank. In the hour of blank, when the blank is in the blank,

I beg of you, blank. (Blankyou, blankyou all so much).