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When first we nod and find the sight

To see ourselves somewhere we’re not

Whence comes this alien delight?

What witching secrets has it got?


Through time, the quest for stress conversion

On newfound chemistries may feed

It’s funny that a mere diversion

To such cosmologies may lead


For fun, you can feed eye and ear

With odd tableaus and flang-ed keening

But when plasma and piss run clear

What stays of newfound cryptic meaning?


Upon this root we may well chew

When none imagine us as students

You quit the other fearing you

Might trip and slip one bond past prudence


This does not track to lack of urge

To loose your molecules again

To push a random reason purge

And maybe see what happens then


While that’s all gone to history

The lens acquired you’ll always keep

Those works still hold some mystery

The kind that happens while you sleep


The kind that needs its own damned wing

Where every wall has been stripped clear

To be smeared with the damnedest thing

I learned that from my docent dear


We walked those halls a trinity

No telling what the day might do

The dreams, the ergoline and me

Experience fermented new


Now trace amounts outside the lab

Applied to all the things you please

Conception boots your ass to grab

And implement perception’s tease


The scenes will move beneath your paw

Your blinks determine where things sit

(But thoughts of the divine? P’shaw!

(Well, maybe just a little bit.))


But seriously, folks, it’s not

About mere cackles or escape

Fuel our collective polyglot!

Invest yourself in cosmic jape!


Still crush to dream while still awake?

Nae sodden squares? (Still floral vapor.)

Try trying, for cohesion’s sake,

To wander worlds made out of paper

-untitled poem by Melba Screrch, from her 1989 collection Pharmasuitable, celebrating Eunisian psychedelia

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