Nothing

Swirling patterns,
Black discs revolving,
Grooves spiralling
Never endingly
Towards a centre
That doesn't exist.

Velvet blackness
Unable to darken
The room completely
For flashing patterns
Of discordant colours
That don't exist.

People moving
To an individual sound
They only can hear;
No reason, no feeling,
Just grooving around,
No love, no fear -
They don't exist.

August 1967 about people on drugs at a disco