By the white horse chestnut candles
spiders weave their evening traps,
to wrap the wings
of moon drowsed moths.
Downtown bars spill light
and people out onto the street;
dancing spiders tongue-weave traps
of drunk deceit
for perfumed, drink drowsed moths
that flutter round the neon-lights of clubs,
or in the karaoke pubs, among the lasers
and the fights
on bad tempered late-spring nights:
overdressed rehearsals for the summer.