Feeling the rapture of a thousand intoxicated eyes,
Seething laser-like through the hysteria,
Seething through the perfumed oneness of our breaths.
This is the cosmos of mental instrumentation,
Of mental hallucination,
Of surreal feelings like floating through
Violet colored Nebula;

The connection with the properties of mk-ultra,
The beats bouncing off our smiles,
Life in complete likeness to death;
Children of music
Children of pain
Children lunging themselves blindly
Into the shadows of Rimbaud and
A Season in Hell.

© Wilson Santos 1998

This poem was spontaneously written on a napkin at an after hour party in NYC around 11am on Sunday 6/2/98.