515 - Freedom for the fly

I’m late for the train. It’s the 5.15
That passes by my window every night,
And I’m hopping on board tonight. It’s been
Fun staying in this town, but the time’s right
To make a move, to shake things up, to fight
My way out of a rut, to raise my game,
To recognise that some things turn to shite,
And let them decompose, flow down the drain
When washed there by the all-dissolving rain.
Make no mistake, this break’s gonna be clean:
The last post sounds for me on this website.
The last poets rapped, unheard from again,
But later listeners clapped, as a new scene
Grew up around the spoken sound in flight.
Fri 1 Feb 2008