Intoxication is in the air, and I wish to get spectacularly drunk
like so many of my kinsmen on this day of our nation,
A celebration that lacks class, brims with drama,
In honor of our patron Saint, Patrick.
Paddy's day, Lá Phádraig.
My wishful thinking was not in vain
but 'twas vainglorious in its promotion
of commotion, debauchery, devotion to revelry .
We are only be ashamed
by those who cannot hold their composure,
Those who don't know how to sesh responsibly; 'ara
sure you need to know how to let loose without letting go,
You need not know what the future holds to stave off despair.
Hold fast, hold on, I clutch a rose-tinged glass shard of fluorodrone
and a white parachute of pentylone. In this day and age
we do not simply drink our troubles away, stimulants
push past the brink of our limits.
It is not a simple day of sessioning,
It is a day of reckoning.
Tell us what is relief on this day?
The day of my people, when
we drown out our past
with the ultimate
session; the almighty
