CHICKEN WINGS

Oh, fuck!
Look outside.
Witness the wonder.
Experience the puffy clouds
the sunny sun
the sheer aching glory
of this cock-smashingly gorgeous day.

This is not a day for arguments with associate
– spirited and cantankerous they may be.
This is not a day for dour depression
or self-righteous suicides
– except by auto-erotic asphyxiation.
That shit’s cool.

This is a day for dance.
This is a day for drugs.
This is a day for dizzy spells
from spinning too much
and then a slice of sweet baby pie.

And you may disagree.
You may spy
with your little eye
something that starts with “N,”
and that proved to be Negative
or Nuclear Annihilation
or Natuonal Socialist Party.

Maybe you don’t approve
of this afternoon of glee,
of the very fuckishness of it all. Maybe you’re too good for fun.

That’s OK.
Enjoy your indoor day.
Appreciate the majesty of misery.
I’m fine with that, but,
if you’ll excuse me
I have some chicken wings to eat
and some koalas to rape afterwards.