Refuge

Dry ice and lazer beams, and flashing lights
that bounce from mirrored walls into the crowd,
and smells of smoke and sweat, and girls in tights
and lace and leather and make-up as loud

as the reverberations: off the walls
the bass drum echoes back. As all year round
they blast into the future, no one stalls
to sit and think, and every doubt gets drowned.