there’s a motto,
treat a cat like a cat,
when a cat ***** in your bed
smack him over the head for him to learn
and...
gentlemen never drink in the morning.*

the last motto can be changed to:
gentlemen never drink in the morning
unless they take the remnants of the whiskey
with coffee... now you’re talking irish gentlemen,
or perhaps northern irish, because that’s
where the english ***** bank was established...
that great big sandpit known as lough neagh
(that's ulster... or ulcer?).
blake was wrong... there are more ***** tadpoles
in every ******* over the years than there
are grains of sand on the seasides and stars in the universe...
it would be counterproductive otherwise.
i’m not going to be one of those repentant drunks
who suddenly find poetry or prose
lacerating myself on ‘oh poo poo poo’ memories
and how one can become a respectable citizen via newspaper publishing,
**** that, *******, eminem gave me all the clues;
swearing? taking oaths? it's called punctuation in połlish.
come on celt... let's tango!