(You can find Nirel and the sisters in the Amaranthine saga. This story takes place in 1967.)
"Whereat with blade,
some demon shudders,
hiding under smoky glass
the colors run like virgin teardrops"
Though Nirel tuned it out, the rest of the poem was in the same vein. Maybe it was because he wasn't as high as the others, or maybe it really was utter tosh, but he just didn't care. When the girl finished, everyone else clapped and reeled off compliments. The best one came from a guy in a pair of dark bell-bottoms. "That was beautiful. It is so in tune with modernism and the core of socio-transcendental-patterns of a new age."
Nirel scoffed and lit another fag. Either that guy saw something he didn't, or else he just wanted in her knickers. It was probably the second one.