Drawn by senses pulling underground

We fill the weekend night again,

Determined we will spill a million selves who never come of age.

We are swarming fetish butterflies,

Whose daytime chrysalises sit

Cocooned in drawstring bags and holdalls ready for the outside world.

And like giant insects, flitting Moth-men

Buzzing round bright light and scent,

We all will vani...

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