I don't know if this really counts as psychedelic, but I was in a pretty psychedelic mood while doing it.
I also don't know how legible my handwriting is to other people, but if anyone can't read the poem, here it is typed out:

When the zippo stops
its flow of ghostly gases
that swirl through the
chamber of unintending
light,
that rushes past the
bombs of fury,
in colors so pleasing
to the naked eye
that it cannot see;
the BIRD GIRL squawks
in a symphony of showmanship-like songs,
wanting of some right note
from the gates of
Belzebub's lair,
to finally journey its
way back
to her craning neck
and out her 0-shaped mouth
under the beak of a nose
pointed toward the sky,
whose colors bear
the striking resemblance
to the looming face
of the reaper,
flanked out and adourned
with the warm, dusky colors
of a deceptively innocent
SACCHARINE,
an eternal satire
straight to the face
of the MAN
who tried too hard
to force control.