Let us burn
the old letters, watch all the beautiful
rain-drenched sun-bleached words and lines
go up in flames while shamelessly
retaining their contents. We’ve been
lucky, oh what we’ve been –
Let us
explore other cities, wander through new
streets, past buskers and rough sleepers,
get used to leaving.
Let us
eat there and drink and give
the singer enough to get drunk on
the beggar what he deserves.
